


scream at the sky

by Kima



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Kuron is Shiro (Voltron)'s Clone, M/M, Major Character Injury, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, So much angst, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-12-18 15:57:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kima/pseuds/Kima
Summary: They all know something's wrong - realization comes at different points for each of them but eventually, all of them know. Only Keith is in denial about two things: his feelings for Lance and the fact that Shiro isn't Shiro. But when Project Kuron is triggered, he will have to make a choice... and the rest of the family is there to help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. This escalated, obviously. I wanted it to be a short thing but now I'm neck deep in this fic and well, might as well go with it.
> 
> I firmly believe that the Shiro who was found in Season 3 isn't OUR Shiro but has either been brainwashed or is a completely different person altogether. For the sake of this fic, I'm going with the fandom's clone theory. That being said, the creators probably have their own plans for this, so I'm prepared to go full AU with this!  
> [eventual Shklance]

They all know, of course. It’s an unspoken agreement between all of them, shared in glances and brushes of hands against backs, in the careful way they behave. They all realized it at different points, in different ways, but eventually, they all know.

 

  
The first one to know is, unsurprisingly, Hunk. He’s always been good with following his gut, gets this weird feeling in his belly from the first moment he lays eyes on the scruffy, unkempt version of Shiro that Keith found.

“It’s probably just the hair,” Hunk tells himself and smiles widely, offering to cook Shiro a good meal because quiznak knows, the guy looks like he needs it. Shiro gives him a tired smile and nods, following him to the kitchen while Lance chatters away and Keith looks so intensely happy and relieved that Hunk kinda wants to hug him. He thinks about offering it but decides against it, for now. He can hug Keith later.

For now, food time.

The steps and movements are ingrained, easy and familiar and he catches himself whistling a tune while the others pile around the kitchen, Coran and Lance recounting some of the adventures they had without Shiro. Allura seems to glow with happiness, fingers wrapped around a mug of what Hunk has decided to deem tea-like enough to actually like it, Pidge occasionally butts into the tale of derring-do Lance spins to correct something or preen about one of her achievements. And Keith, well. Keith just sits next to Shiro, his face relaxed and peaceful, eyes closed and head leaning against the wall. Hunk idly wonders when the last time was Keith slept through a whole night. But he puts the thought aside in favor of finishing up the pancakes he’s whipped up from whatever alien ingredients are lying around in the kitchen. It’s close enough to what his mama taught him so he calls it a win, piles the pancakes high on a plate and sets it down in front of Shiro who gives him another tired smile and a nod.

See, Hunk is a foodie and he’s proud of it. He takes joy in cooking and eating and enjoys it when other people eat his food because it makes him feel capable and proud of himself. Sometimes, he thinks that maybe he could have become an ace chef in a restaurant somewhere, maybe even opened up his own place - but of course, he went to the garrison to become an engineer because engineers are needed and he’s good with his hands and his mama doesn’t earn that much. He’s met Lance and Pidge and then came the whole Voltron thing... But yeah, maybe in another life, Hunk could’ve become a chef. As it is, he’s a capable engineer and the Yellow Paladin and cooks in his free time to relax, to make his friends happy.

With that little fact in mind, Hunk of course knows everyone’s eating habits. He knows how Lance shovels food into his mouth, fast and unattractive, because he’s from a big family and if you blink once, the food will be gone so you gotta eat fast. He knows how Pidge is a really picky eater and won’t eat anything that’s cooked beyond a certain point and boy, does she not like vegetables. Hunk’s made it his mission to keep sneaking her some hidden in elaborate meals and he never tells her the ingredients. He knows how Coran doesn’t eat breakfast but drinks about two gallons of Altean coffee each morning (so he’s jittery the rest of the day but he claims he doesn’t function otherwise) and then digs in during lunch, eating more than all of them combined, possibly. He knows how Allura eats almost absentmindedly but always with the best of table manners – and also how she usually sneaks food away from Coran’s plate when he’s not looking and trades Pidge’s hated veggies for those weird Altean potatoes she for some reason seems to really despise. He knows how Keith eats slowly and seems to savor every bite, how he’s instantly awake in case of alarm but otherwise just sleepily grunts in the mornings when spoken to until he’s had at least one cup of Coran’s coffee.

He knows how Shiro usually eats with his left hand, despite being right-handed, because he’s still uncomfortable with his bionic arm, doesn’t want to use it when not necessary. So when Shiro grips the spork in his mechanical fingers and starts eating with gusto, Hunk can only stare. He stares and stares and thinks, “This is wrong.”

He watches Shiro eat and somehow, instinctively, knows that this isn’t _their_ Shiro.   


 

The next to know is Coran. With the Paladins fighting against Lotor, he and Shiro are in charge of the castle after the Black Lion has refused his former Paladin. In hindsight, he should have known then, he thinks later, having witnessed the rise and fall of Zarkon first-hand. He should have seen the sign for what it was because of course, of course the Black Lion had known. But he didn’t know and to be entirely honest, he was worried more about the princess at the moment.

Coran prides himself in knowing how to deal with people. He’s been King Alfor’s second in command and trusted advisor for decades before becoming the Castle’s Keeper and serving the princess, has seen his fair share of people, both Altean and not, humanoid and completely alien, creatures and monsters alike. It’s a bit of an instinct and a bit of a profound understanding of how a mind works and Coran, for all his jittery rambling and curious nature, has always been an exceptional diplomat. Well, except for during his teenage years where his hair was a mess and his taste in music abysmal but at least no one here knows about it (except for the princess, of course, and they’ve silently agreed to never mention their adventure in the wormhole ever again). So of course, Coran picks up almost immediately on the little quirks and mannerisms of the paladins, from the very moment they step into the Castle.   
He picks up on how Pidge starts to ramble when she’s too excited and how she takes off her glasses when she’s particularly tired. He picks up on how Keith gets uneasy in large groups of people and how he quirks his eyebrow almost imperceptibly when he’s impressed with something. He picks up on Hunk’s penchant for chewing on the ends of his headband when he’s thinking hard and on the way he perks up when they all eat together in the mess hall. He picks up on Lance’s homesickness and how he starts grumbling under his breath in Spanish when in a bad mood, how he covers his self-doubts with a flirty smile and a silly joke.

Coran picks up on the nightmares Shiro still has from his time with the Galra, on the way he blanches and starts when something triggers his memory, on the way he screws his eyes shut and pinches himself to get back to the present from the labyrinths of his own mind.

So when Coran yells over the blaring of the alarms for Shiro and throws him a pack of emergency energy packs for the particle barrier’s battery that’s almost out of juice, he can only stare as Shiro – who has always flinched at things being thrown his way, always remembering his horrible captivity as a Galran gladiator – catches the pack without any reaction whatsoever and gets to work. At first, Coran chalks it up to the stressful situation, to the battle roaring all around them. He’s mostly just glad that he has someone with him so he doesn’t have to worry about not being able to work on fifty things at the same time because he might be part of a chameleon people but he certainly can’t duplicate himself to man all available battle stations. Shiro is usually calm and collected in stressful situations, the unavoidable breakdown usually follows later – except it doesn’t. Not this time. When the other paladins return, Shiro and Keith instantly start analyzing the battle, Allura nodding and giving her input as well. The other three are draped over each other in a cuddle puddle on the comfy seats in the recreational area, Hunk sighing happily as Lance idly pats his hair in a lazy gesture of affection and Pidge hums sleepily against his shoulder.

Coran waits for the battle to catch up to Shiro, waits and waits. But nothing happens, not even when Keith absent-mindedly throws his used towel at Shiro after practice the next day. Shiro just catches it calmly in his mechanical hand and Coran suddenly, drenched in cold sweat, realizes that something is terribly, horribly wrong.

 

 

After that, it’s hard to say who’s the next to know – it’s a tie between Allura and Lance who pretty much realize it at the same time, maybe a split second apart. As chosen paladins of the Blue Lion, they have grown very close over the course of the past few weeks and months. Once Lance has stopped the flirting, they easily slip into an almost sibling-like relationship. It should be odd, really – him, the hapless boy from Earth, and her, the ethereal princess from Altea. But it isn’t odd, not at all, it’s comfortable and easy and Lance would readily admit that he’s come to love Allura like a sister if somebody asked. As it is, they spend a lot of time together because even though Lance now pilots Red and she’s growing on him, his heart will always, first and foremost, belong to Blue who was the first one to ever choose _him_. He and Allura meet up in Blue’s hangar a few times a week, chatting about their planets and their customs and the way Blue has seen something special in both of them.

Lance learns that Allura is all too familiar with self doubt and Allura learns that she isn’t the only one to fiercely miss her home. In battle, they work together as a unit, Blue and Red, pink and blue armors flashing across a battlefield in synchronized movements, blind trust between them. Lance sometimes wonders whether it’s a natural connection between Red and Blue (because he knows this easy camaraderie in battle from fighting alongside Keith, too) or whether it’s just a coincidence. In any case, they function as one in a fight and on quiet evenings, they hang out on the starboard deck, watching the stars and talking about Home. Sometimes, Lance braids Allura’s hair together with the mice and laughs about how she’s almost like a Disney princess and Allura tells him with a wide grin to shut his quiznak, giggling too.

It happens right after a raid on a Galra prison ship, all prisoners safely tucked away in healing pods and the team assembled on the bridge for a quick debrief. They’re connected to the Blade of Marmora through comms and when a familiar voice on their end starts rambling about realities and possibilities, everyone present winces.

Slav.

Lance sighs heavily and tunes the rambling out expertly, choosing to focus on his friends instead; Shiro and Coran will brief them all again after the next mission anyway and Slav seems to be having a particularly bad day with the rambling, judging from Pidge’s twitching left eye and Hunk’s far-off expression (Lance simply knows that his best friend is thinking about dinner because that’s Hunk’s _I’m hungry and I’m imagining all of you as delicious food_ face). Lance suppresses a chuckle because he’s learned by now that Slav will launch into even more outrageous rants and rambles if he thinks people are making fun of him. He looks over to Keith who looks tired and about 500% done, staring blankly ahead with an expression of mild annoyance but Lance doesn’t doubt that Keith is actually listening – he’s good like that. Lance should probably be more like Keith, he thinks. But yeah, no, that’s not gonna happen, he likes his hair mullet-free, thank you very much. Meanwhile, Allura is twisting a strand of her hair, coming loose from the bun she’s wearing it in, listening to the feed where Slav is currently describing something complicated, all of his tiny arms waving excitedly. When she notices him looking, she glances over and half-turns away from the video feed, rolling her eyes with a small, exasperated sigh and he nods gravely, understanding her without words.

Slav chooses this moment to start yelling even louder now, realizing that not everyone is paying attention to him and citing about a thousand different ways all of this could go wrong. Keith groans, his patience obviously at an end, and turns to leave the bridge, grumbling to give him the gist of it later. Pidge sighs and slumps against Hunk who just drops down onto the floor, covering his face with one hand and mumbling something about toffee and whether it would shut Slav up at least for a little while.

Lance and Allura, however, simultaneously look to Shiro with differing levels of wariness, knowing full well that Shiro can’t handle Slav’s anxiety for too long. Lance was there when Shiro exploded on Slav for the first time, after all, and Allura is nothing if perceptive.

Except… nothing happens. Shiro nods and apologizes for the team, promising that they’re of course listening and they’re just very tired, so maybe they could postpone this? And while Slav is miffed about not being taken seriously (they do take him seriously but in small doses and with a lot of time in between because boy, is he a handful), he’s content with being more or less gently removed from the video feed by one of the Blades, all the while mumbling and counting things off his numerous fingers.

Shiro smiles and asks the Blades something about the next step but Lance has stopped paying attention. His eyes, wide with surprise, wander up to meet Allura’s, a frown wedged between her brows. Realization hits them both at the same time, the knowledge coursing through synapses and brain wires until they know with absolute certainty that this man, this person, is _not Shiro_.

And judging from the grave looks of Hunk’s and Coran’s faces, Blue’s chosen two aren’t the only ones.

 

 

The only reason that Pidge comes next is the fact that Keith is stuck in a healing pod after a particularly bad fight against Lotor, the Black Lion charred and in desperate need of repairs. Their newly appointed Head of Voltron couldn’t realize the time of day at the moment and Pidge is notoriously bad with people and social cues, she’s just not as obvious about it as Keith. Even before Kerberos, before Matt and Dad disappeared, she’s always preferred the company of machines and computers to those of people and it was only thanks to her older brother that she hasn’t withered away in her room because he kept dragging her outside to play or at least see the sunlight.

It’s late, even by the ridiculous time zone standards the Castle operates on. In Earth terms, Pidge is pretty sure she’s been awake for at least 24 hours but it could also be more at this point. She really can’t tell anymore. It’s become a challenge between the older paladins to find her sleeping in odd positions and even odder places – Hunk has found her perched on the kitchen counter, leaning against a huge potted plant once and Lance still won’t let her forget that one time he found her snoring softly in the bathroom, head thrown back against the sink and legs sprawled out over an empty cleaning bucket.

While she’s kinda embarrassed about it, it also means that she’s feeling safe enough to fall asleep, secure in the knowledge that her friends will find her and bring her back to bed. It’s a bit like family and a lot like they’re all siblings and while she still misses Dad and Matt and shit, _Mom_ , she doesn’t have the urge to run away anymore, doesn’t feel trapped in the Castle or her Lion like in the beginning. With Green faintly humming in the back of her mind, reminding her of a lazily purring kitten, Pidge feels settled in her role here, engineer and scientist, communications officer and Green Paladin, one of Voltron’s arms.

And she knows she’ll find her brother and her father and if she has to take the entire universe apart molecule by molecule.

She takes off her glasses for a moment, rubbing at her eyes tiredly and suppressing a yawn. On the console next to her, the mice are snuffling in a sleepy pile and she wonders if maybe, just this once, she should actually go to bed by herself. But when she puts on her glasses again, a faint smudge of a fingerprint on the left lens, she notices a movement on one of the various screens in front of her.

See, being the nocturnal insomnia goblin that she is (Lance’s words, not hers), Pidge has a pretty good grasp on everyone’s sleeping habits. She’s also hacked into every security camera feed the castle has, so that’s another plus. It’s how she knows that some nights, Keith seems to forget where his own room is and wanders into Lance’s where they cuddle up and look so adorable that she kinda wants to vomit all over her console. It’s how she knows that Hunk sleeps like the dead, snoring away at such ridiculous noise levels that she’s glad their rooms are sound-proofed. It’s how she knows that Allura tosses and turns at night, waking up a few times to drink water or stare longingly at a painting of her father. It’s how she knows that Lance never goes to bed without his ridiculous skincare routine, even if Keith does come shuffling in in the middle of the night. It’s how she knows that Coran seems to follow the Earthen proverb of “early to bed and early to rise” because he’s soundly asleep way before any of the others turn in and up again at the metaphorical asscrack of dawn.

It’s how she knows that Shiro sleeps fitfully and never more than a few hours a night, instead filling those dark hours he spends awake with a training regimen to keep in shape and tire himself out enough to catch at least a bit more sleep. She’s watched him do that enough times to instantly notice the lack of it as she watches his tiny figure move around his room on one of the screens, walking in circles for a few minutes, face thoughtful, before sitting down on the bed and taking out a book.

Pidge blinks and leans in closer, frowning because what the quiznak? She’s never seen Shiro sit down and read, especially not as still as this, the occasional flipping of a page the only indication that he’s actually reading it. Shiro isn’t a very still person, she’s come to learn, even when he’s silent and thinking, he chooses to keep moving, as if standing still will somehow erase him from existence, as if moving lets him escape the invisible demons of his mind.

She’s not a doctor, no psychology expert. But she knows, without a doubt, that people don’t just change habits so suddenly. She knows that PTSD doesn’t just go away.

She knows, a soft curse on her tongue, that this isn’t Shiro and none of this is right.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not that Keith doesn’t see what’s going on. He sees the weird behavior and the hints and the looks the others keep exchanging – he knows, okay. Part of him has always known, the small, tiny part that he doesn’t like to acknowledge because it’s everything he doesn’t like: weak, unsure, too hopeful, dependent.

Keith operates on cold truths and hot conviction, a living contradiction of hot-headedness and reason.

But he also operates on not thinking too much because if he starts _thinking_ , he’ll never stop and overthinking has never helped anyone. He doesn’t want to think, he simply can’t afford to. Not when he’s suddenly the leader, not after almost being responsible for the others getting hurt once already.

So he doesn’t. He doesn’t think, doesn’t dwell, doesn’t make the obvious connections like the others, not because he can’t but because he won’t. But of course, willfully turning away from the truth, from _reason_ , is treason to one’s self and frankly, to all of the others too, and it comes back to bite him in the ass in the middle of the night and in form of Lance.

Keith hasn’t slept too well since Shiro disappeared. At first, there was mindless wandering around the castle but then, one night, he runs into Lance and, well. A sleepy offer later, Keith finds himself being used as a human pillow by his fellow paladin who apparently hasn’t been sleeping that well lately either, missing the small bodies of his sisters and brothers crawling into his bed at night. He doesn’t plan on going along with it nor does he plan to ever repeat their way too warm night of spontaneous cuddling but it’s a fact that he hasn’t slept as well as he has in Lance’s arms for what feels like an eternity.

He returns every few nights when the thoughts threaten to overwhelm him, when the nightmares are too dark and the bed too empty. He returns and Lance just makes sleepy noises and hugs him from behind, breath warm against the back of Keith’s neck and nose buried in his hair. And Keith sleeps, safe and secure and drowning in about a hundred conflicting emotions.

They don’t really talk about it but Keith finds himself drifting towards Lance nevertheless. They go on more missions together, spend more free time with each other. Keith doesn’t know what that warm expression in Lance’s eyes means whenever their eyes meet but it feels too good to ruin it by asking. So he doesn’t ask and they continue as they are.

It’s on one of these nights that Lance speaks up. Having snuck into his bed once again, Keith has closed his eyes and prepares to sink into the blissful embrace of sleep when Lance suddenly whispers into his hair.

“Keith… You – you know, right?”

Keith’s eyes shoot open and for a moment, he’s afraid that Lance is going to confess to feelings Keith is not ready for.

“Know what?” he whispers back, mouth dry and throat hoarse.

“That he’s not… It’s not Shiro. You know that, right?”

Keith suddenly and viciously wishes for that confession because that would have been less painful for everyone involved. He swallows.

“… I do.”

“Then why…?”

Feeling cornered, Keith gets up abruptly, freeing himself from the loose hug Lance is holding him in.

“Keith-“

“I can’t, okay?” He gathers his discarded jacket and boots as fast as possible. “I can’t just… abandon him. No matter what version of him.”

“But he’s not our Shiro! For all we know, he might be – I don’t know, a clone or something! He’s all wrong!”

“I know!”

“Then why don’t you…!”

“Because I _love him_!” He makes the mistake of turning around to face Lance instead of just leaving. He knows it’s a mistake the second he sees Lance’s wide eyes, the surprised expression that quickly morphs into a grimace of hurt and then the bitter mask of self-deprecation. The smile that Lance gives him is every bit as fake as Keith pretending that he doesn’t care.

“Oh,” Lance says, voice disgustingly bright and belying the pain that Keith saw in his eyes just a split second ago. “Well then. Good to know about that before I…” He clears his throat and Keith suddenly feels like throwing up. “I mean, of course you wouldn’t…” Lance shrugs and looks away, looking small and lost where he sits up in bed, blanket pooled around his hips and shadows covering his face.

Keith opens his mouth to try and explain but he can’t. He needs to get out.

“I- I have to go,” he blurts, whirling around and fleeing, fleeing like the coward he is from Lance and his hurt expression and that horrible, bitter smile.

Lance doesn’t call after him and Keith doesn’t look back.

But he knows, he _knows_ that everything is wrong and he has no idea how to fix it. He doesn’t even know where to start with fixing things – he’s no leader, doesn’t have any answers. All the others are relying on him and Keith _doesn’t have any answers_ , he just wants to get away and… and what? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know anything.

In the following days, he avoids Lance as best as he can – which isn’t much, considering that they’re all stuck in space together and the Castle Ship isn’t all that big. Lance, meanwhile, pretends that everything is a-okay and jokes around with Hunk and teases Pidge and hangs out with Allura and reminisces of home with Coran. Keith wants to visit Red but she belongs to Lance now and the risk to meet him there is way too big; so he wanders off to Black’s hangar, touching her curiously lowered snout with one hand.

“You have to admit,” he says quietly, stroking the big metal nose absently. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just let Shiro pilot you again… Everything would still be okay.”

Black snorts out loud, jerking her head away and giving him a look that makes Keith want to curl up somewhere and maybe die. Then her eyes go dark again and she goes back into sleep mode, ignoring him completely. It makes him miss Red even more.

But Black has a point, doesn’t she? Even if she’d let Shiro pilot her again… it doesn’t change that he’s not really _their_ Shiro. From the hair (Keith can’t stop staring because it’s just so _wrong_ , Takashi has always worn his hair shorter in the back, the undercut is part of him by now) to the weird way he’s holding himself (like the arm doesn’t bother him, like he’s not still having phantom pains, like all of this is completely normal), everything is utterly wrong and now that Keith is allowing himself to look for all the little hints and clues… he sees it all.

The others must know it too because he can clearly see the slight hesitation in all their interactions with Shiro. Or… Not-Shiro. And Black must have known it too, after all the time she spent united in body and mind with her former paladin.

Keith knows logically that he has to do something about this. He has to deal with Not-Shiro, has to find the real one, talk things out with Lance. He knows it all. But he also has no idea what to do about any of it because…

He didn’t lie to Not-Shiro. He will save any version of him, as many times as it takes.

It probably would’ve continued like this, he thinks later, him running away and being a giant coward and avoiding every kind of responsibility. But the Galra clearly have other plans.

The blaring castle alarms rouse Keith from a fitful sleep and he blearily stares at the clock right next to his bed – it’s barely 3 in the morning by the Castle’s time zone and Keith swears heartily as he jumps out of bed, grabbing his bayard and his jacket off the bedside table and slipping on his boots. He’s first to arrive on the bridge, closely followed by the rest; they’ve gotten so much better at reacting to attacks and Keith silently wonders if Allura is proud of them by now, of the warriors they’ve become. But he doesn’t have much more time to wonder because, as usual, the Galra are already attacking.

Coran informs them that they seem to have run straight into a blockade set by the Galra, determined not to let the Castle Ship get any further. The Galra ships are set up straight between three stars that are so close to each other that their gravitational forces completely disrupt any scan the Castle Ship could have run. Behind the ships, a shiny wall of purple light is blocking the way and from the looks of it, some of the ships are already breaking out of formation to circle the Castle and block off the exit.

“I’ve pinpointed the ship bearing the reactor powering at least 70% of the blockade!” Pidge pipes up in that moment, already neck-deep in calculations and glasses gleaming in the light of her console. “It’s very small and well protected – I doubt we can get there with the lions. We’ll need to sneak someone in and…”

“Can’t we just, uh, blow it up?” Hunk suggests warily. “I honestly don’t want to get too close to… that.” He gestures vaguely at the army of ships in front of them.

“No, it needs to be dismantled manually,” Pidge replies with a shake of her head. “If we blow it up, the excess energy might disrupt the gravitation of the stars! If that happens, the stars could collide, causing a huge supernova, nothing in the vicinity of several galaxies will survive a blast of that magnitude.”

“Yup, okay, got it, no blowing stuff up.” Hunk visibly blanches and takes a step back.

“So how do we avoid that?” Keith asks and looks over to Pidge.

“Well, it would be best so send someone in to disable the reactor from the inside…”

“I can do that,” Not-Shiro volunteers and Keith whirls around to him, eyes wide with alarm. They can’t let him go alone, not after…

“No,” Allura replies immediately, the very picture of calm and collected – although her eyes are blazing with _knowledge_. She knows. They all do. “We need you here, Shiro. To coordinate all of us, you’re best suited for that job, you know everyone’s strengths and Coran could use you here.” Keith exhales silently, relief flooding him so sharply that he might sway a little. He holds on to Pidge’s chair just in case.

“A diversion is in order, I’d say,” Coran says, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. “While the reactor is disabled, the others should keep the enemy busy and distracted

“Right,” Pidge nods. “I can hack into the defense programs but I’ll have to get really close.”

“I’ll come with you,” Keith volunteers at once. Anything to get away from Lance and Not-Shiro for a while. Pidge nods and shoots him a tired smile; they might not be the best friends but they work together nicely. With her calculations and his instincts, they’re definitely a force to be reckoned with.

“The rest of us will give you cover, then,” Allura nods. “Lance, Red is the fastest of the Lions – do you think you can get Keith and Pidge in close enough?” Everyone turns to look at Lance and Keith… Keith winces when he sees the brief flicker of pain in Lance’s eyes that’s quickly covered up by his usual cocky grin.

“Do I _think_? My dear Allura, Lance-boy here is your man!” He finger guns at her for good measure. Allura seems to be caught between laughter and annoyance for a moment but then nods at him and turns to Coran.

“I trust you and Shiro to alert us, should anything change.”

“Of course, Princess!”

If Not-Shiro feels put out about being left behind _again_ , he doesn’t show it, much like the real Takashi wouldn’t. Keith glances at him, searching for _something_ that he can’t even name properly in the familiar and yet not face but whatever it is, he’s looking for it in vain. Whatever it is, Not-Shiro doesn’t have it. Not-Shiro meets his eyes and gives him a nod and a small smile and Keith’s heart _hurts_.

He remembers being back at the Garrison, remembers the way Shiro has always been there for him, the way Shiro… He stops that particular train of thought before it can derail and ruin everything.

Not now. Not ever, really.

While Allura and Hunk race off to their own Lions, Keith takes a deep breath and follows Pidge and Lance down to Red’s hangar and stares up at her, a pang of longing in his chest. Red rumbles softly in response to Lance’s enthusiastic greeting and Keith could have sworn that her mind touches his briefly, something like curiosity and disapproval sparking along the rapidly unraveling bond they used to have. But before he can ask her exactly she’s so unhappy about, Lance is already plopping down in the pilot seat and flicking on the consoles, giving Red’s dashboard a gentle pat.

“Okay, kitty,” he says with one of those smug smiles Keith hates and loves equally. “Let’s show ‘em who’s the boss!” Keith barely has the time to grab onto the back of Lance’s seat before Red is already roaring to life, fire and energy thrumming through her core and launching her straight out of the Castle. Keith gasps because he actually forgot just how utterly beautiful Red is in action – fast and sleek and the very picture of the boiling power of Voltron’s right arm.

There’s barely enough time for him to realize just how much he misses Red before they’re already in the middle of the Galra ships, evading and shooting left and right, an arrow of red light among the stars and bright purple of the enemy ships. Keith can see Hunk’s Lion barreling into a cluster of Galra ships while Allura whips Blue around from behind and freezes a whole row of ships into a solid chunk and then Lance is already firing Red’s lasers to obliterate said chunk of ice and metal.

“There!” Pidge yells and leans over Lance’s arm to point at a spot where the enemy hasn’t closed their ranks yet. “If you can get us through their defenses before…!”

“On it!” Lance shoots back, already shoving the controls forward to give Red an extra speed boost. She roars, the intensity of it vibrating all through the cockpit and through Keith’s body, so strong that he almost misses the blinking lights of an incoming attack from their right.

“Lance, on your three…!”

“Got it!”

Lance leans Red in a barrelroll and they spin away from the deadly lasers, out of reach, breaking through another cluster of ships that go down in a bright explosion. Using the ensuing smoke and debris as cover, Lance expertly dives under another laser and Keith can’t help but admire the easy way Lance interacts with Red. If his relationship with Blue was only half as strong as the one he already has with Red, he can’t help but wonder why Iverson was putting Lance down so much – Lance is obviously not only a skilled pilot but also a great team player.

He fights down the sudden rush of protective affection and turns to Pidge.

“How much further?”

“Only a bit more,” Pidge replies, anxiously peering out the window. “There!”

“I see it!” Lance nods, already taking course for the tiny ship that’s housing the power reactor. They don’t know if it’s another of Prince Lotor’s elaborate traps or if this is the work of another upstart Galra commander but it honestly doesn’t matter at this point; they’re closing in on their target and Keith takes a deep breath, letting all the worries of the past few days fall away.

“Stay close,” he tells Lance, gives his shoulder a quick, unthinking squeeze and runs after Pidge who’s already pulling out the bungee cables and grappling hooks. He takes the one she hands him and attaches it to the belt of his armor, double-checking that his bayard is secure. Pidge turns back to the cockpit and yells,

“Lance, open the hatch!” Lance’s reply is garbled by the screech of the opening hatch, the airlock sliding close so Lance isn’t affected by the vacuum outside. Pidge and Keith share a look, nod at each other and activate their jetpacks.

The thrust propels them straight out of Red’s open jaws and for a brief second, Keith feels the uncomfortable tingling of weightlessness all through his limbs before he forces himself to concentrate on the mission at hand. With Red behind them taking out any potential attackers, Keith clenches the end of the grappling hook and throws it with the force of another thrust from his jetpack. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Pidge do the same and although her handling of the cable is slightly less secure, she gets a good hold and activates the automatic retrieval function effortlessly, causing her to zoom away as the cable gets shorter until she gets a grip on the target ship. Keith lands next to her, grabbing his bayard and ramming the still forming blade right into the ship’s hull. If they weren’t in space where sound is as nonexistent as breathable air, he’s sure there would be an ugly sound of screeching metal being cut open by whatever material the bayard blade is made of. Instead, there’s only the grim flash of Pidge’s smile (how anyone could think she’s any less dangerous than the older paladins is beyond him) before she unhooks the bungee cable from her belt and drops down into the hole Keith has cut.

He follows her and drops down into an abandoned corridor.

“So, do you think they noticed us yet?” he asks curiously. Pidge opens her mouth but in that moment, the alarms start blaring, flashing purple light.

“Oh I’m not sure,” she grins then. “But I’d say it’s a distinct possibility.”

He grins back and then they’re running down the hallway, Pidge in the lead. It doesn’t take long for the first sentries to appear and Keith conjures up the shield to cover Pidge from behind. She grips her bayard tightly, dropping into a crouch as she sends the blade flying, the glowing green cable attached to it a sharp contrast to the pink and purple and silver of the robot sentries. Keith cuts through a blaster, knocks away the owner with his shield and rams his blade into a second sentry, whirling around and sending it flying straight into the group that’s appeared in front of Pidge. She rolls out of the way and yanks her bayard back towards her after the cable has wrapped itself several times around two other sentries, causing them to fall forward and straight into the projectory path of the one Keith sent flying; all three sentries crash into the group of five, knocking them to the ground and – thanks to the bayard cable still wrapped around two of them – electrocuting the whole lot of them. They fall to the floor in a heap of scorched metal and electrical sparks while Pidge calls her bayard back and jumps over the group they just knocked down.

Keith raises the shield, effectively blocking a stray shot from another sentry, throws his blade in a wide circle like a boomerang and watches in quiet triumph as the whole group behind them is cut into two. The second the bayard is safely back in his hand, he whirls around and follows Pidge.

Down a corridor, crossing another one, up a stairs and then another corridor, another hallway – until they stumble into a huge, open hall in the middle of which is an enormous reactor, glowing bright pink and dousing everything in an eerie shade of purple. Several big  tubes are connected to it, running in complicated patterns all across the room as the center pulses like a gigantic heart, giving it all a vaguely organic look.

“When you think they can’t get any creepier…” Pidge huffs and takes off towards what looks like the console powering the reactor. Keith silently agrees and follows, but at a slower pace, gazing around the room. They’re like sitting ducks here and he’s never wanted a sharpshooter on this mission more than now. But without Shiro, they’re down one man for missions like this and they can’t… as much as Keith wants to, he can’t trust Not-Shiro to fight with them, to be the same Shiro they all need him to be.

And yet, he still can’t give up on him, no matter how fake he might be. Because despite it all, it’s a version of Shiro and Keith will forever be unable to hurt Takashi Shirogane.

He swallows and forces himself to concentrate on the here and now; he’s the only one here to watch Pidge’s six and he intends to protect her at all costs.

The opportunity for it is already marching around the corner, blasters at the ready – and entire army of sentries, armed and ready to take the intruders out.

“Keep them away from the reactor!” Pidge yells, her voice high and tight with tension. “If they hit it, we’re all dead!”

“Roger!” he calls back, lifting his shield and sprinting smack into the middle of the sentries. They didn’t expect that, it seems, because for a long moment, they don’t even react, just stare after him. It’s only after he cuts one of them in two that the others spring into action, shots ringing out in the silence.

Keith gets lost in the pull and push of the fight, in the familiar way he can dodge blows and deal them. Fighting is easy, it’s natural – he doesn’t have to think when he’s fighting. When he’s fighting, he doesn’t have to worry about where the real Shiro is if the one they found is a fake or what to say to Lance. He can just be himself, Keith, with no care about all the shit that has been going down since Kerberos.

But of course, there’s only so many sentries he can fight off on his own – a few shots have grazed his armor and he’s pretty sure that he’s broken at least one rib after being thrown around one time too many. Breathing hard from the exertion, he raises his shield to block another vicious blow and yells,

“Pidge! Anytime now!”

“Just a second!”

“We don’t _have_ a second!!” Just when he’s about to give up and just run back in to grab Pidge and book it the hell away from here, exploding suns be damned, when one of the sentries just ahead of him suddenly explodes in a bright ball of fire. In quick succession, another three sentry heads explode and a familiar voice right inside his helmet says,

“Need some help?”

“ _Lance_?!”

“Figured you’d need backup,” Lance replies from wherever he’s perched and taking out sentries one by one. “Red’s outside with the others but you better hurry up.”

“Done!!” Pidge announces in that very moment.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” Keith huffs, swinging his blade to decapitate a sentry. “I’ve had enough of this place…”

Pidge doesn’t need another invitation, thankfully, already coming sprinting out of the reactor room, gesturing wildly. They speed down the corridor, back the way they came. Wherever Lance was hiding, he’s still out of sight and only the occasional shot ringing out overhead tells Keith that he’s still around somewhere, making sure they get away safely.

The race back through the reactor ship, a ton of robots close on their heels, is hectic and filled with shouts and the sharp smell of ozone as laser shots ring out all across the hallways they pass. The alarms that have briefly stopped blaring while Pidge was working on the reactor are now back with full force, already working on the migraine Keith is very likely to develop after all this.

Just when they reach the hole Keith cut into the hull earlier, Lance drops down from a ventilation shaft and yells,

“Move it, guys, let’s get the hell outta here!” Keith has nothing to add to that. As fast as he’s physically able, he hoists Pidge up so she can swing through the hole and throw down one of the bungee cables. Keith gestures for Lance to climb first but the Blue Paladin gives him a shove and huffs,

“No time to discover your good manners, Keith, move!” Keith wants to argue but more enemies are approaching with every second they waste so he just nods tersely and starts climbing, Lance close on his heels.

Red scoops them up in her jaws easily, like a mother cat snatching up naughty kittens, and Keith takes a moment to stroke the wall of her airlock as he follows Lance and Pidge back into the cockpit. He mumbles his thanks and he could swear Red answers back with a rumbled feeling of _of course, you silly pup_ , making him smile.

“The blockade is down!” Coran’s voice is telling them from the comms as Keith finally steps inside the cockpit. “Paladins, return to the Castle immediately, we’re preparing the wormhole!”

They certainly don’t need to be told twice. Out of the window, Keith can see both Allura and Hunk make their way through the hordes of enemy ships, explosions and laser shots in their wake as Blue weaves her way through the debris and Yellow simply smashes it out of her way as if she’s chasing away flies. Meanwhile Red dives and jumps and is the first to reach the Castle. The second all Lions are back in their hangars, a sharp sound echoes through the Castle Ship, making the floor underneath their feet vibrate – and then there’s the rush of the wormhole, already sending him halfway across the universe, back to safe waters where some of the allied systems are doing their best to keep the Galra threat at bay after their liberation through Voltron.

Keith turns to Lance to – say something, to thank him for coming to his help but Lance just waves him off and Keith shuts his mouth again, unsure of what to do. Before he can decide on the course of action, however, Pidge skips past him and Lance uses Keith’s hesitation to slip out right after her. Red seems to rumble something disapproving and he gets the distinct feeling that she’s calling him a coward. Scowling, he makes his way outside and is greeted by the all-too familiar side of Shiro giving a lecture to an annoyed looking Lance.

Pidge, it seems, has made the smart decision to get out of the hangar lest she gets caught in the lecture crossfire that even Not-Shiro seems to be capable of giving.

“… do that again. It was seriously dangerous to just go in there without backup.”

“Yeah…”

“I know you wanted to help Pidge and Keith but…”

“He did help,” Keith cuts in quickly, approaching the pair of them fast. Real or not, he’s been on the receiving end of these lectures enough to know that they’re always unpleasant and leave you feeling like you disappointed Shiro.

And you don’t want to disappoint Shiro.

Not-Shiro blinks at him, clearly not having expected to be interrupted. He looks from Keith to Lance and back, then sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Well… Be that as it may, you have to be more careful, Lance. We can’t risk losing any of you,” he says then. Lance nods without looking at any of them and walks off briskly when nobody says anything else, effectively leading Keith alone with Shiro.

Well. Not-Shiro.

“Are you alright?” he asks with that same worried expression that reminds Keith of days long past, of getting into fights back at the Garrison. Keith swallows and nods, rubbing a hand over one of the burn marks on his armor. He quickly decides not to mention his broken rib until he has time to sneak off to the healing pods; the others will just make a huge fuss about it and that’s something he’d like to avoid.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies with a shrug that jostles his ribs enough to make him wince slightly. Of course, Not-Shiro is just as perceptive as his real counterpart and he quickly grabs Keith’s arm.

“You’re injured,” he says, face grim with worry. “Why are you lying to me? Keith…”

“It’s nothing,” Keith says quickly, trying to free his arm but failing as his broken rib pokes painfully into his side. He gasps with the pain and breathes through it, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. When he opens them again, it’s to Not-Shiro’s concerned grey eyes.

“Keith…”

“I just… I didn’t want any of you to worry,” he mumbles, looking away. “I’ll go to healing pods, it’s no big deal.”

“… Okay.” Not-Shiro sighs, then gives him a small smile. “Just… be careful next time, yeah?”

“… Yeah.” Keith can’t help smiling back at the earnest expression he’s met with and turns to leave but thinks of something else and looks back at Not-Shiro.

There’s one thing he needs to know and if he gets the right answer, then…

“Shiro?”

Not-Shiro looks at him questioningly. Keith takes a breath, preparing himself for the question that could change everything. Then, he asks,

“Do you… do you remember what I told you the night before Kerberos?”

Grey eyes narrow with confusion before clearing up. A smile.

Keith holds his breath.

“You asked me not to go,” Not-Shiro says.

Keith exhales, licks his lips.

“Nothing… nothing else?”

“That you’d miss me. Why?”

“Oh… nothing. Nevermind.”

Not-Shiro insists on accompanying him to the healing pods and make sure that Keith is taken care of properly. He lets it happen, feeling numb and heavy all over even before the pod starts cryofreezing him.

It isn’t all he’s told Shiro that night.

And this person, this carbon copy of the man he loves… is just that. A copy.

He exhales and lets the healing pod work its magic.


	3. Chapter 3

When he opens his eyes again, the pod room is empty. He knows from experience that he can’t have been inside the pod for long, maybe a few hours at the most. Healing a broken rib is nothing compared to the various injuries Keith has already suffered since this whole thing started. It’s a familiar enough process to get out of his pod, even shivering and trembling from the aftereffects of the freeze-healing. Teeth chattering, he looks out for the stash of blankets they’ve started to keep in the room a few months ago, snagging one of them to wrap himself up in it. For a few minutes, he just stands there, rubbing his arms and forcing the blood to circulate through his body again.

He needs to talk to Lance.

Still wrapped in the blanket, he slowly makes his way through the Castle, briefly wondering what time it is. His armor is still back with the pods and he’s only wearing the black bodysuit but it’s not like he’ll need his armor for this.

At least he hopes so.

The lights in the hallways are dimmed so if it isn’t night yet, it’s at least very close to it. After the first month up in space, Pidge and Hunk both insisted on adjusting the lights inside the Castle to at least simulate the change of day and night because the human body is not made for uninterrupted light. It disrupts the sleep cycle, or something. Keith doesn’t necessarily need darkness to sleep but then, he’s a light sleeper anyway and hasn’t slept through a whole night ever since he was about ten years old. But the dimming lights help him keep track of time when he’s up late training or… on a quest to find a teammate.

Just when he’s about to knock on Lance’s door, it slides open and he stares into Lance’s surprised face, hand still raised like an idiot. Quickly lowering it, Keith awkwardly clears his throat.

“I, uh…” he starts, unsure of what exactly to say. Words are hard. Forming them into coherent sentences? Even harder. “About the other night…”

“Look, I get it,” Lance says, raising his hands almost defensively, his expression pained and looking every bit like he’s seriously considering retreating back into his room and never coming out again. “I assumed things and it’s always stupid to assume and I won’t come between you two. Promise. Now, excuse me, I gotta go drown myself in the pool…” He tries to shove past Keith, ears red with embarrassment, but Keith won’t have any of this. He grabs Lance’s sleeve and says, voice even,

“The night before Shiro left for Kerberos, I confessed to him.”

Lance freezes, stares at him. Then his face turns dark.

“I didn’t think you’d be the type of person to rub salt into the wound, Keith.” He looks so hurt, so disappointed that Keith feels like throwing up.

“No, listen, I’m trying to explain!”

“What’s there to explain?! I already told you I wouldn’t come between you two, so why-“

“Because he rejected me!”

They’re both breathing hard and staring at each other. Lance’s eyes widen almost comically.

“Wait what?”

“He said it’s not a good moment and that we’d talk when he’s back,” Keith barrels on, determined to get this out and over with. “And – and then Kerberos happened and he disappeared and… with the whole Voltron thing, he said we can’t. That it’s not… not what the team needs.”

“So…?”

“ _So_ ,” Keith huffs, “he chose the team over me. I don’t blame him for that, it’s… it’s what a good leader does, choosing the team. But… but you…” He looks up at Lance, takes in the confusion and the small, barely there spark of hope. How he still looks ready to bolt any second now.

“You – you keep choosing me,” Keith whispers, lowering his eyes and feeling himself blush. “You chose me as the new leader, you chose me as – as someone worth protecting. You came back for me even though it was dangerous and against what you were supposed to do. You chose to let me sleep in your bed and you – you chose _me_. Nobody… nobody ever chose me before.”

The words hang between them, heavy as a weblum. Keith swallows, waits with bated breath for whatever reaction Lance will have. Honestly, Keith wouldn’t blame him for rejecting all this, all the drama and complications that Keith seems to be made of. Especially after what happened the other night.

The silence stretches on and Keith suddenly realizes that he’s still holding on to Lance’s sleeve like a child so he makes himself let go, taking a breath to apologize and go hide in his own room but suddenly, Lance makes a grab for his hand. Keith looks up in surprise, meeting Lance’s stupid blue eyes and the hesitant expression that’s scrunching up his brows.

“But. But you love Shiro.”

“I do,” Keith says quietly, dejected. He doubts he’ll ever get over his feelings for Shiro, no matter what happens.

“So I’m what, a susbstitute…?”

“No!” Keith yells, shocked to the core. “Of course not! What the… how could you even say that!”

“But you just said that…”

“Can’t I love two people at once?!”

Oh.

_Oh_.

They both blush at the same time as realization sinks in. Keith slaps his free hand across his mouth, mortification running through his veins like white-hot metal. If there ever was a moment to go jump into an active volcano, it’s definitely now because fuck, he absolutely didn’t mean to say that. He hasn’t had the guts yet to explore what exactly he feels for Lance – affection, irritation, the overwhelming need to protect him, to impress him, to make him smile – but now that it’s out in the open because his brain has decided to short-circuit, he can’t even deny it anymore.

He didn’t mean to say it out loud but… but it’s true.

He fucking loves this infuriating, gangly idiot who’s a better person and paladin than he gives himself credit for. And Keith is so, so tired of pretending he doesn’t.

“You,” Lance says finally, still bright red. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Keith shrugs helplessly because what else can he do? Now that the words are out, he can’t very well take them back, considering that they’re still true. And at least this way, Lance won’t think that he’s not worthy of love anymore.

Lance takes a deep breath, glancing down at where their fingers are still intertwined. Keith follows his eyes and instantly starts getting sweaty hands because of course he does. Lance looks back up, his expression weirdly touched and put out at the same time. And because he somehow still manages to be the braver of the two, he goes and wraps Keith in a hug so tight that Keith can’t breathe.

“You’re lucky I like you because you’re the absolute worst!” Lance huffs into Keith’s hair, actually squeezing him a bit tighter until Keith gasps for air. Only then does the hug get less tight but Lance still makes no move to let go. Tentatively, Keith wraps his own arms around Lance’s waist and allows himself to relax into the hug because okay, this is happening now.

Now that he’s back in Lance’s arms, he realizes just how much he’s missed this feeling of warmth, of security… of safety. He lets out a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding and closes his eyes, hiding his face in the space between Lance’s neck and shoulder. One of Lance’s hands comes up to cradle the back of Keith’s head, ruffling his hair gently.

They remain like this for a while, until Keith doesn’t feel like he’s gonna fall apart any second anymore. Lance lets go enough to be able to look Keith in the face, eyes warm.

“So. You won’t bite off my head if I decide to do that again?” he asks. “Hug you, I mean?”

“I – I don’t think so?” Keith replies, one of the corners of his mouth twitching. He doesn’t know where to go from here and he would probably get nervous but Lance’s blue eyes are so warm that Keith suddenly doesn’t care anymore. The hand that was cradling the back of his hair now makes its way to Keith’s cheek, caressing it gently with one thumb. Silence stretches between them again and Keith doesn’t know what to do. But if he could just remain here in Lance’s arms forever…

“And if Shiro… I mean, the real one. If… no, when he comes back…?”

“I don’t know,” Keith whispers back honestly, shaking his head. “I… I don’t know.” Lance watches him for a moment longer, then he nods. A small smile spreads on his face.

“Okay. We’ll figure it out, then. Just – I’m not giving up on you. Okay?”

“… Okay.” Keith feels himself blush and has to look away. Lance still doesn’t let go, instead nodding back at the room behind them.

“So… it’s pretty late,” he says.

“It is,” Keith agrees.

“Think we can… go back to that sleeping arrangement we had?”

“Me sneaking in at 3 am while you grumble at me to get under the covers?”

Lance lets out a small laugh, leaning their foreheads together.

“Nah. Just the sleeping in one bed part, no sneaking required. Unless you’re into that?” Keith thinks about it. He’s just come out of a healing pod but he does feel tired and exhausted, the pods don’t help with that. Also, talking about feelings has always been Keith’s worst nightmare and he’d love nothing more than to curl up in bed right now.

“I think we can skip the sneaking today,” he smiles back and it’s absolutely worth the potential awkwardness of it all to see the smile on Lance’s face grow until he’s outright beaming.

It’s weird going to bed at the same time and while the lights are still on. Keith has to forcibly stop himself from watching Lance undress until he remembers that he’s not even in his regular clothes but still wearing the black bodysuit. They’ve gotten ready for battle together countless times, they’ve even helped each other take the armor off sometimes but this? This is something else entirely. Feeling incredibly self-conscious, he drops the blanket he still has wrapped around his shoulder onto the back of a chair and starts unzipping the damn bodysuit, cursing himself silently for not having thought of bringing at least a pair of pants.

Thankfully, though, Lance has him covered.

“Here,” he says, holding out a pair of pajama pants and very decidedly not looking at Keith, ears bright red. “Since you didn’t bring anything.”

“Thanks,” Keith mumbles and takes it, also very decidedly not looking at Lance. He can feel his own ears burning.

It feels awkward, almost painfully so. When he slides under the covers, he’s extremely aware of how Lance’s pajama bottoms are hugging his hips, of how everything smells like Lance – a bit like the face cream he uses every night (even now that Keith is watching him, Lance takes the time to clean his skin and put on a night cream) and a lot like the shampoo he’s wheedled out of Allura. It smells fresh and reminds Keith of a planet they stopped on a while ago, full of oceans and forests, and Lance’s happy face over being close to a beach again. Keith buries his nose into one of the pillows subtly and inhales deeply, watching Lance putter around the room.

Finally, Lance hits the lights and Keith blinks against the sudden darkness.

With the lights out, it suddenly doesn’t feel awkward anymore. Now, it just feels like every other night Keith has snuck into this very same room, this very same bed. Except now he’s the one to be under the covers first, with Lance nudging him to the side with a knee. It takes some shifting and moving but then they’re in the same familiar position they usually sleep in when Keith sneaks in: Lance hugging Keith from behind, nose in his hair and one hand under Keith’s head. After a moment of hesitation, mustering up all of his courage, Keith raises his hand slightly to slot their fingers together where both their hands are resting on the bed.

He holds his breath.

“You know,” Lance mumbles from behind, letting out a small, happy sigh. “I like this much better without the sneaking.”

“Yeah,” Keith whispers back, glad that Lance can’t see him blush up to the roots of his hair. “Me too.”

Lance drifts off to sleep first, as usual, leaving Keith to listen to his quiet, even breaths. He stares at their hands in the darkness where he can barely make out their outlines until his eyelids finally slide shut.

They’ll be okay, he thinks.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s… surprisingly easy to be with Lance. They still bicker, still get into silly competitions but it’s friendly now, more amusing than anything else. Keith waits for the other shoe to drop but… there is no other shoe, it seems. Lance is just happy to drape himself all over him after training, to steal small kisses when the others aren’t looking. It’s not that they’re hiding – he’s pretty sure Pidge knows because Pidge somehow always knows everything, not to mention that she also regularly hacks into the security cams just for fun so she probably knew about it before they themselves did.

But it’s one thing to let Lance kiss him when they’re alone and another thing entirely to see Shiro’s face every time they’re with the others. He just… he can’t. He’s accepted that this is a fake of the man he knows and loves but every time he thinks about holding Lance’s hand during a meeting or kissing him after a mission, his eyes fall on Shiro’s face and _his heart aches_. He still misses Shiro so fiercely and having to face this copy every day is already almost more than he can bear. And yet…

“Keith, watch out!”

But the warning comes too late and before he can lift his shield, a blast hits him square in the chest, effectively knocking him on his ass. Again. For the 6th time today.

“Damn, are you okay?” Keith grunts and takes the hand Hunk offers him, letting the other boy pull him to his feet again.

They’re on the training deck, the simulation around them stopped for now. Pidge and Lance are nearby, looking both surprised and worried. Allura, hand still on the console that halts the training simulation, turns around to him, eyes wide. None of the others have been knocked out by the simulation today and that he’s the one to repeatedly end up on his ass is definitely not a good sign.

“Yeah,” Keith sighs, feeling tired and exhausted all of a sudden. Lance jogs over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” Before he can stop himself, his eyes flick up to the small control room from where Not-Shiro and Coran are overseeing the training session. Lance’s face does that complicated thing where it cycles through several emotions before it finally settles on one – determination. His shoulders settle and he straightens up almost imperceptibly, the very picture of a paladin and not the goofball he is usually.

Keith opens his mouth to ask what’s going on but in that second, Coran’s voice echoes out of the speakers,

“Paladins! What’s the holdup? This training session is still running for twenty-three dobashes and seventeen ticks! And Keith, my boy, you need to focus!”

Lance doesn’t answer but looks over to Allura, silently communicating something to her through shrugs and lifted eyebrows. Keith has no idea what’s going on but Allura seems to understand, because she nods, calling up to the observation booth,

“I think we’ve had enough for today, Coran. Why don’t we stop here?”

Keith fully expects Coran to protest, to start on one of his rants about proper trainings and how the Galra threat won’t wait for them to get some sleep but no, he just hums thoughtfully into the microphone and replies,

“Yes, yes, I think that is a good idea. Good work, paladins! You’ve earned yourselves a free evening!” Keith frowns but as confused as he is, he doesn’t mind getting some rest now. Maybe cuddle up with Lance in one of their rooms and try to get some sleep.

Except Lance has other plans, it seems.

“Where are we going?” Keith groans, sore and bruised in places he didn’t realize could hurt. He really just wants to curl up in bed. Lance has grabbed him the moment Keith finished putting on his boots, pulling him down several hallways.

“Allura and I have been talking – we can’t… I know you’re our leader and everything but – Keith, we have to do something about this.”

“About what?”

Lance stops in front of a big door that Keith has only seen once because he usually doesn’t wander into this part of the Castle but he’d recognize the elaborate carvings and designs on the frame. This is the door to Allura’s chambers and it’s really _chambers_ because not only does their princess have her own bed- and bathrooms, she also has several sitting rooms and even an entire library to her exposal. What the quiznak…?

After a quick knock, the door slides open, revealing Allura with her hair still in the bun but not wearing her armor anymore. Behind her, in the biggest sitting room, Keith can see Pidge, Hunk and Coran – everyone, except for Not-Shiro.

“What…?”

“Please, come inside,” Allura says. “We shouldn’t discuss this out here.” Lance nods and gives Keith a slight shove, stepping inside and dropping down on next to Hunk one of the sofas, patting the free spot next to himself. It finally dawns on Keith why they’re all here and why one person is missing and he’s suddenly not sure if he wants this.

No, he’s absolutely positive that he doesn’t want to deal with this but… but he also can’t run away now.

So he takes a deep breath and nods, stepping inside while the door slides shut behind him. After a moment of hesitation, he sits down next to Lance, earning himself a smile from the other boy and an arm that instantly sneaks around his waist.

“Told you so, Hunk,” Pidge grins from the other couch that she’s taking up all by herself. “Pay up.”

“Aw man…” Hunk sounds dejected but his delighted face speaks volumes. Allura sits down in one of the plushy armchairs (rich blues and purple accents, so soft that Keith actually finds himself sinking into the couch he’s sitting on) and gives them a small smile.

“I’m happy the two of you have figured things out,” she says, eyes warm and Keith can feel himself blushing. “But I’m afraid we don’t have time to celebrate.” Her face turns serious, almost sad and very grim. She clears her throat, wrings her hands in her lap helplessly until Coran gently leans forward from where he’s standing behind her chair, putting a hand on her shoulder in silent support. Only then does Allura take a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and lifting her head.

“As I’m sure all of you know, the person who claims to be Shiro… is not _our_ Shiro. Coran and Pidge have been conducting research on who he actually is and it looks like this situation is getting too big to ignore any longer.”

“Number Five and I have obtained some DNA samples,” Coran nods, standing back up straight and pulling up a holo-screen with a few movements of his hand. “Now, this is the DNA structure of Shiro frm when all of you arrived here. It was recorded during the initial medical examination.” He flicks his wrist once and a picture appears on the screen, showing a typical strand of human DNA. Keith has seen pictures like this countless times during his time at the Garrison, hell, he could probably recognize a human DNA strand out of a thousand others after those endless mandatory MASH classes they all had to take during his first year as a pilot.

“Right,” Pidge says, sitting up and nervously pushing her glasses up her nose with one finger. “So, I did some digging. I still had some of the Garrison files archived on my computer and…”

“You had _what_?” Hunk interrupts, looking shocked. “That’s illegal!”

“Oh please,” Pidge huffs, “it’s their own fault for not protecting their files better against simple hacking. Anyway!” She clears her throat and pulls up another picture next to Shiro’s DNA strand. It’s similar but looks so different, so much more complicated that Keith actually has to look twice to recognize it. “This is the DNA I got by examining some hair I found after Shiro cut off his hair.”

“That’s – definitely not human,” Hunk says.

“What the… what even _is_ that?” Lance asks, leaning forward as if closer examination would help him determine what’s going on with the second DNA strand.

“That’s what I was wondering, too.” Pidge sighs. She pulls up a third picture of a DNA strand, this one bearing no similarity to the first, human one but looks a lot like the second one.

“… Okay, you’ve lost me,” Lance admits. “What is that, now?”

“ _That_ ,” Coran says, moustache trembling with disdain, “is the genetic code of a Galra.”

Dread, cold and heavy and so very, very sickening, fills Keith’s chest. He can’t breathe.

“So, “he hears himself says, voice coarse and throat scratchy, “so he’s… what, like…?”

He can’t say it.

He thought they were okay with it, that they didn’t mind. Even Allura has said so…

“Oh quiznak, Keith, no!” Pidge looks utterly horrified, shaking her head so vehemently that her glasses actually slide down her nose. “No, it’s… here, look.” She quickly pulls up several other pictures of DNA strands, all of them human – except one. The last one looks like somebody combined a regular human DNA with the one in the third picture. “This one’s yours – half human, half Galra. Whatever… whatever this guy is, he’s not human, not even partly. He’s nothing like you.”

Lance wraps both arms around him as if he’s trying to shield him from all possible harm and Keith just lets him, too tired to fight. The touch anchors him, making him feel less like he’s about to fall apart into a thousand pieces but he still squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at those DNA strands anymore.

He misses Shiro.

When he sits up straight again a few minutes later, Pidge has thankfully put away the pictures and is looking at him apologetically. He shakes his head slightly, giving her a small smile to show that he’s not angry with her. She chews on her lower lip, but nods eventually.

“Whoever he is,” Allura says finally, “we know he isn’t Shiro. We know that the Galra have something to do with it and… as hard as it is, we have to be prepared to do what’s necessary.”

“Not that I don’t agree,” Hunk says, frowning hard. “But… how do you want to do that? I mean – he still looks like Shiro. He acts like Shiro – at least mostly. We can’t fight him!”

“Yeah,” Lance agrees. “Shiro was the best pilot the Garrison ever had. And he’s the best fighter out of all of us!”

“Nevertheless.” Coran shakes his head, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. “Knowing the Galra, why, they could have planned anything! If he attacks one of you, we can’t just let him kill you. You are the last hope of the entire universe!”

Keith swallows hard, looking down at his lap where Lance is still holding one of his hands. Fight Shiro? Impossible. He can’t, not ever. Even without the feelings he has for him, he could never…

“We should at least have an emergency plan,” Allura decides. “We cannot wait around like sitting yalmor!”

Suggestions begin to fly around the room, half-formed plans, proposed and rejected. Keith listens to the discussion, feeling cold and numb, unable to say even a single word. Lance pitches in at first but then takes a look at Keith’s face and shuts up, simply holding his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze from time to time, a silent _I’m here_. Keith appreciates it, the way it reminds him that these are just emergency plans, that no one is planning to outright murder somebody who looks and acts almost exactly like Shiro.

It still hurts more than he thought it would, even knowing what he does.

When they leave Allura’s chambers an hour later to let it all sink in before dinner (Hunk heading off to the kitchens to start cooking, Pidge wandering off to the hangars by herself and muttering under her breath, Allura staying back and Coran offering to go make her some tea), Keith feels wrung out, like something has squeezed all energy out of him like you would wring out a wet washcloth. Lance is still by his side and they walk back to Lance’s room in absolute silence.

Keith can feel Lance’s eyes on him the entire way but he stares straight ahead, trying to get his own thoughts under control. His mind is an absolute mess and he can’t get his brain to shut up, to stop imagining himself plunging his knife into Shiro’s chest. He already knows that this image will haunt him in his nightmares for weeks, maybe even months or years to come.

The second Lance’s door slides shut behind them with a soft hiss, Keith turns around and presses Lance against it, kissing him frantically. Lance lets out a small _oof_ of surprise but kisses back, wrapping both arms around him. Keith squeezes his eyes shut, tries losing himself in the kiss but all it does is leave him with tingling lips and trouble to breathe so he breaks it off after a few minutes, leaning his forehead against Lance’s shoulder.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this,” Lance gasps, “but what…?”

“I hate this,” Keith whispers helplessly. “He’s… I know he’s not… but I can’t stop imagining… I don’t want to fight him. I can’t do this, Lance. I can’t.”

Lance doesn’t say anything, just hugs him tighter, a hand running up and down his back in a soft caress. He mumbles something in Spanish that Keith neither catches nor understands but the sound of it is weirdly soothing. For all he knows, Lance might just be reciting a recipe for churros but it still has a calming effect on him. That and the touching.

Before Lance, Keith hasn’t even realized how utterly touch-starved he was.

“I know this sucks,” Lance says after a long while. “But… but we’ll get through this. Okay? And we’ll find Shiro. Our Shiro.”

Keith nods silently, sighing. He takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair, shakes his head.

“I just… How can any of you even think of…”

“We’re not,” Lance says. He steps away from the door, instead sitting down on the bed and making himself comfortable. After a moment of hesitation, Keith goes to sit next to him. They easily lean against each other, linking fingers. Lance looks down at their hands, softly stroking the back of Keith’s hand with a thumb.

“None of us… we’d never hurt Shiro. But this, this guy, whatever he really is… He’s not Shiro, Keith.” Blue eyes look up to meet Keith’s and he’s shocked by the intensity of the other boy’s gaze. “The Galra know how important he is to all of us – that’s why he looks like Shiro. But we can’t risk losing everything we’ve fought for over a – a clone or whatever. And that’s why…” He sighs, shaking his head. His free hand comes up to ruffle the short brown hair, messing it up slightly. It looks hopelessly endearing.

“That’s why we have to get rid of him and find our Shiro,” Lance says finally, determination burning in his eyes. “I won’t let that guy hurt you or – or anybody.”

Keith stares at him, at the boy he loves, at the boy who doubts himself and his own importance for the team but is so fiercely protective of everything he cares about. At the boy who misses his home but found a new one out in space, fighting a battle that was never meant to be his.

At the boy who chose him.

And because Keith is hopelessly in love with him and hopelessly grateful, he simply leans forward to kiss Lance again. Softer, this time, saying more than he could ever express with something as restricting with words.

Keith has never been good with words and Lance deserves so, so much more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh. I should probably warn you guys here for graphic depictions of violence but nothing too over the top, I hope?  
> Also, the unholy amount of angst in this fic is about to skyrocket, so gird your loins and fasten your seatbelts, children.

Of course, Keith has learned a long time ago that every plan goes south when you need it to work the most. He should have known, he thinks later, but you’re always smarter in hindsight. It’s almost imperceptible at first but, much like an avalanche, it’s way too late to stop it when you’re face to face with it.

It starts like this:

Despite knowing that the person wearing Shiro’s face isn’t, in fact, Shiro, they can’t act like anything is off and that is why they can’t keep Not-Shiro at the Castle forever, lest he grow suspicious. Judging by pinched look Allura gets every time he turns away from her, she probably would love to do just that but they don’t know what the Galra’s plan is, what they’re getting it by planting a copy of Shiro into their midst. There are some theories, of course, but since they can’t very well outright ask, that’s all they have.

It’s how Keith ends up on a simple recon mission with Not-Shiro once and how Hunk and Pidge end up gathering supplies for a potential allied planet with him. It’s how Lance ends up on cleaning duty with him, much to his dismay.

“I could do so much more!” Lance complains afterwards, flopping down face first into Keith’s pillow and groaning. “Why do I only get the boring jobs?” Keith looks up from where he’s sitting in a chair, absentmindedly cleaning his Marmora knife. He shrugs and mumbles,

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“What was that?” Lance sits up, frowning at him.

“I don’t…” Keith starts but stops again, clearing his throat awkwardly and looking away, already feeling the blush creep onto his cheeks. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Hunk and Pidge could have protected each other, if anything happened.”

“Dude, you went on a _recon mission_ with him,” Lance says incredulously. “On your own!!”

“I just – I’m not doubting your abilities,” Keith says quickly before Lance’s insecurities get the better of both of them and they end up in a stupid fight, _again_.

“Oh? So what, is this…”

“I’m worried about you, damn it!” Keith blurts, the heat in his cheeks so intense now that he’s sort of worried his head might explode any second. “You said all those things about wanting to protect me but it’s the same for me, too! Don’t you get it? This entire situation, I can’t… I can’t do this without you.” He looks away, embarrassed and upset.

It’s quiet for a bit, then suddenly there are arms wrapping around him.

“Awww you big softie, you,” Lance croons. “Acting all tough… But I know now you’re squishy inside, you can’t fool me anymore.” Confused, Keith tries to free himself from the surprise hug he’s found himself in but Lance is holding him pretty tightly.

“I’m not… squishy inside,” he protests petulantly.

“You really kinda are,” Lance laughs, warm and quiet and right next to Keith’s ear, causing a shiver to run down Keith’s back. It does things to him he’s not ready to get into quite yet so he quickly gets up from his chair to free himself from the hug gently. He steps away, crossing both arms in front of his chest, as much protection as it is comfort.

“I know you’re a good fighter,” he says, feeling raw and vulnerable, suddenly remembering why he’s avoided talking about feelings for most of his life. “And I trust you, I know you can hold your own against an enemy. But… But he’s not just any enemy. Even I can’t win against Shiro ninety percent of the time. This isn’t like any other challenge we’ve faced… and I don’t want you to be alone with him.”

The silence stretches for another moment. It’s heavy, almost uncomfortable. Keith knows that Lance is probably fighting an inner battle with his own insecurities and his pride but in the end, he sighs.

“Okay. I get what you mean. But, Keith…” A hand on his shoulder, gently making him turn around to face Lance. He looks serious. “This thing goes both ways. If you don’t want me to be alone with him because you’re worried, then the same thing goes for you, you know? I don’t… Look, it was hard enough thinking you were rejecting me.” Lance’s ears are bright red again but he doesn’t break eye contact. “I really, really don’t want you to get hurt.”

Keith blinks.

When you grow up mostly alone, always fending for yourself, you learn not to rely on anyone. Not out of malice – it’s just safer this way. Safer not to wait until you’ll be rescued by someone else, safer to do all the saving necessary yourself. Safer not to hope for others to put you first, safer to put yourself first and survive.

When you’re alone, your life is all you have. And Keith has been alone for so, so long that’s heard to break that habit, hard to accept that despite everything, there _can_ be people who care for him. Shiro was the first to do so and maybe that’s why, even now, even after everything, Keith can’t stop loving him. He remembers how hard it was to accept that Shiro really, truly cared. How hard it was to understand that he could trust somebody else with his own safety now…

“Okay,” he says, voice soft. Something warm blooms in his chest, big and fluffy and _pure_ and wow, he really does love this lanky idiot. Despite himself, Keith has to smile when he sees Lance’s serious expression soften around the edges and he steps forward, tugging Lance into a soft embrace. He feels ready to burst with the warmth inside his chest.

“You promise?” Lance seems unconvinced. To be fair, Keith can’t even blame him. So he smiles a little, letting go just enough to be able to see Lance’s face. They’re really close, almost nose to nose, and Lance even goes slightly cross-eyed. Together with the frown he’s sporting, it looks equally ridiculous and endearing.

“I promise to try,” Keith allows and Lance makes a noise, somewhere between a snort and a laugh, leaning their foreheads together.

“Ass,” he says but it sounds fond.

 

They really should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.

 

“Guys, has someone seen the communicator I’ve been tinkering with?” Pidge sticks her head into the recreation area where Hunk and Keith are playing an idle game of poker, using small pieces of scrap as tokens. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Err, no?” Hunk frowns, stealthily trying to peek into Keith’s cards who notices it and casually pinches Hunk’s arm. “Yeowch! Aw man, Keith…”

“I haven’t seen it,” Keith says without looking, carefully picking up a card from the pile. “Did you ask the others?”

“Not all of them. Allura and Coran said they didn’t see it, I haven’t found Lance or … Shiro yet.” The small pause makes them all wince a little.

“I think Lance went down to check on Blue?” Hunk scratches the back of his head with his free hand. “No idea where Shiro is, though.”

“Hmm, okay then.” Pidge lets out a deep sigh, waves and leaves them to it. Keith watches her go with a small frown but then Hunk tries to peek at his hand again and distracts him. The rest of the game is a blur in Keith’s memory later and even though he wins, he can’t say how it happened.

“Aw man,” Hunk pouts. “Guess I gotta train some more. Same time tomorrow?” Keith gives him a thumbs up and smiles, then waves and wanders off, leaving Hunk to his own devices.

  

Pidge’s missing communicator doesn’t show up.

 

“I’ve searched everywhere,” she grumbles, three days later, grumpily digging into her food goo.  Hunk has managed to create something that tastes vaguely like fried chicken (if it was squashed into goo, anyway) and even though the color is a slightly off-putting neon pink, it tastes good enough that everyone is on their second helping. “This Castle is like the Bermuda Triangle sometimes…”

“The what now?” Allura frowns, scrunching up her nose somewhat in confusion. While Hunk and Lance eagerly explain the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle to their princess, Keith glances over at Not-Shiro. He avoids looking at him nowadays, the painful knowledge often too much for him to handle. The copy isn’t acting out of character, simply watching the others with a faint smile of amusement as Shiro often did. And yet, Keith can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

It’s too obvious a solution that the copy took the communicator, for whatever reason, but what other solution to the problem is there? It’s been days and even if the Mice suddenly decided to play a prank, they would have returned it by now. Not to mention that the only person who could possibly be in need of a communicator unconnected to the Castle is, well… It’s just too obvious and the obviousness of it makes Keith suspicious as hell.

In that moment, the copy blinks and notices Keith staring, looking over to him. Their eyes meet and Keith’s mouth runs dry – but not because he misses those grey eyes and the warmth in them. No, not this time. This time, his mouth runs dry because of the barely there smirk the copy gives him, a silent issued challenge, unbeknownst to any of the others. A twitch of an eyebrow, a lifted corner of the mouth and the cold shine of malice. It’s gone again so fast that he might have imagined it, the copy looking away again to laugh at something Lance says, and he really, really wants to only have imagined it but the way his blood has run cold is a dead giveaway.

This is real.

He _knows_.

He feels sick, bile rising up in his chest and up into his throat, his hands are shaking.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

He knows, he knows they’re onto him, knows that Keith is already suspecting him and doesn’t feel threatened by it at all. And he _wants_ Keith to know, probably expects him to tell the others so… so…

“Keith, my boy? Are you alright?”

Keith only realizes that he’s standing upright, his chair toppled to the floor, when Coran’s voice calls for him. He blinks several times, trying to clear the fog of horror from his mind but nope, not happening.

He’s absolutely going to be sick.

“Bathroom,” he grits out, turning on his heel and running, running, running, out of the dining room and through the hallways, on and on until he reaches his room, slamming into the door with his entire body before it even opens, a hand pressed to his mouth. He barely reaches the bathroom adjacent to his room, hastily activating the lock on the door before dropping to his knees and emptying his stomach of everything he just consumed.

When it’s finally over, he’s shaking all over, feeling frail and brittle, sweat on his brow and spit in the corners of his mouth. He leans his heated face against the cool metal of the toilet, closing his eyes and trying to calm his nerves, telling himself over and over that it’s going to be okay somehow, that he’s not alone, that they’ll overcome this.

But the truth is that he can’t tell any of the others about this. No matter what he promised Lance, no matter how much he wants to go find him right now and just hug him, Keith can’t tell the others about this.

It’s exactly what the copy wants, what he expects Keith to do, to tell the others and endanger them all, risk their lives. And Keith can’t let that happen, can’t be responsible for any of them getting hurt, not after just feeling comfortable with them, not after finally accepting them as _family_. Not after Lance kissed him for the first time on the observation deck under a billion stars.

Screw his promise; he’s not going to let them get hurt.

“Keith? Are you – are you okay in there?”

Keith bites down a small sob when he hears Lance’s worried voice through the locked door. Gritting his teeth, he forces himself to stand on unsteady legs, pure force of will keeping him upright.

“Yeah, just – must’ve caught a stomach bug,” he croaks back, voice hoarse and strange in his own ears. He hates lying to Lance like this but it’s the only way to keep him safe. It’s the only way to ensure that no one gets hurt, that none of their ridiculous emergency plans will have to be implemented. He’s seen them be hurt enough and he knows that seeing them fight Shiro – or someone who looks like him – and fail to hold their own, to be cut down by someone he loves… He knows he couldn’t ever bear it.

“Are you sure? It couldn’t be the food?”

“The food-“ Just the thought of food makes him want to vomit again. Screwing his eyes closed, Keith quickly swallows down the persistently rising bile and shakes his head. Remembering that Lance can’t actually see him through the locked door, he adds, “No. The food’s okay. I – I’ve been feeling weird for a few days already.”

“Yikes.” Lance at least sounds sympathetic and the warmth in his voice, the concern and love, kind of makes him want to cry, to break down and confess everything. But no. No way. “Want me to get you a tea or something? Or we could stick you into a healing pod…”

“No, it’s – it’s fine. I’ll just… stay in bed for a bit.” The lie tastes like ash on his tongue. “Just tell Hunk it’s not the food? I know he worries.” There’s a shuffle outside the door, as if Lance is taking a few steps toward the door and then decides against knocking and asking to be let in. Keith exhales in relief; he can’t lie for shit, much less straight to someone’s face. Especially if that someone is his boyfriend.

“Well, if you’re sure…” Lance doesn’t sound too convinced but he doesn’t protest. “I’ll go tell the others and see what I can do about some tea for you, okay? You gotta stay hydrated.”

“Yeah,” Keith rasps, leaning his forehead against the door and wishing he could hug Lance right now, squeeze him so tightly that this nightmare of a situation disperses like a bad dream. “Thanks.”

Steps, the soft hiss of his bedroom door opening and closing again, then silence. Keith opens his eyes, exhaling softly.

He won’t let Lance get hurt.

After rinsing his mouth, he takes off his boots and crawls into bed, blanket pulled almost up to his ears, face buried in his pillow. He might not really be getting ill but quiznak, does he feel like it. The shaking in his limbs has subsided to a tremble but he still feels cold and sick and so, so tired. Dread squeezes his heart in an iron grip, making it hard to breathe. He feels like crying but no tears come.

When the door slides open again, hissing quietly as the hydraulics do their work, Keith quickly pretends to be asleep, knowing full well that he’ll break if he looks Lance in the eye now. Instead, he forces himself to take deep and even breaths, closing his eyes and trying to relax as much as possible.

“Keith?”

Lance’s voice is soft, quiet. Receiving no answer, Lance’s steps get a bit closer and Keith knows he’s being examined, checked over. A warm hand touches his forehead gently, a small hum follows.

“Guess you’re really coming down with something…” A soft chuckle. “Dummy, you could’ve told me earlier.” The mattress dips slightly where Lance leans on it and Keith can feel a loving kiss being pressed to his brow. “At least you’re getting some sleep, you’re even worse than Pidge…”

Keith nearly breaks. Nearly. But the sob that desperately tries to wrestle its way out of his chest is successfully masked by a small sigh, his face and the tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes successfully hidden by the pillow.

“Sleep well, starboy.” A gentle ruffling of his hair, another quick kiss to his temple, then soft steps and the hiss of the door.

Keith pulls the blanket over his head and allows himself to cry for the boy he loves and what he’s about to do to him.

 

* * *

 

Lance visits once more that day, to leave tea and mumble some more sweet things to him, believing that Keith is asleep. In fact, Keith is everything but asleep and lies there in fear that Lance might notice he’s just pretending to be but all Lance does is mumble something in Spanish, something warm and impossibly soft and even though Keith doesn’t understand a word, he knows that it’s terms of endearment, a declaration of love in an unguarded moment.

He resolves to learn Spanish if he survives this night.

Later, after Keith is sure that even Pidge should be asleep by now, he slowly gets out of the bed, movements mechanic, feeling numb inside. He downs the tea Lance left, long since gone cold, then pulls on his boots and summons his bayard to his side. He doesn’t release the blade yet but he keeps it ready, just in case.

There’s no plan to this, no fixed meeting place but something pulls him toward the hangars, towards where the Black Lion rests. He can feel the soft touch of Black’s presence in his mind as he comes closer, followed by a brief, barely there brush of Red’s conscience, growing fainter every day but still persisting to keep their bond alive. If the Lions are worried about him… that’s a clear sign he’s on the right track here. Or wrong track, depending on who you ask, he supposes. There’s no doubt that Lance will be furious if he finds out. _When_ he finds out because the boy is no idiot.

When he steps into Black’s hangar, he can just make out the small figure besides Black’s front paws, looking up at her. The figure is almost shrouded in darkness but turns around to face him and Keith almost gasps at the cold, yellow glow in its eyes – the same yellow he remembers from the Galra ship, the same yellow that turned his skin purple and let Zarkon live for thousands of years.

_Quintessence_.

The lights flicker on, reacting to Keith’s presence, and Black’s eyes light up, a soft rumble of disapproval echoing through the giant room.

“Down, girl,” he tells her quietly. “I’ll handle it.” More reasonable than Red, Black obeys even though she’s not happy about it, not at all. The copy, still standing next to her paws, twists Shiro’s features into a cruel smile.

“Will you, now? I wonder.”

Keith grits his teeth but doesn’t answer, instead stepping closer until he can clearly make out the twisted features – the smile, the glowing eyes, cruelty pouring through ever fiber.

“Didn’t bring your friends?” the copy taunts. “Shame. Just us and the big cat here, that won’t be fun at all…”

“What have you done with Shiro?”

A laugh, so unlike the warm chuckles he’s used to, too deep and too mean to belong to the Shiro he knows.

“Oh, I’ve done nothing to him,” the copy says, shrugging a little. “They don’t know what happened to him or where he disappeared to. They just knew that this form would fool the Paladins.”

“It didn’t,” Keith says, trying to keep his voice even.

“Enough to let me in here.” Another shrug. “Enough to lure you here, all alone.”

“Wha…?”

“I know you, Keith. His memories are full of you. I know everything about you – the fear you harbor, the feelings you hide. Every single doubt, every one of your thoughts… I know them all. I knew you wouldn’t tell any of them about this, that you’d come here all alone in your silly attempt to protect them.”

Keith grips his bayard tighter.

“You don’t know anything! You’re not him!”

“True.” The copy grins, a snarl revealing his teeth that shouldn’t look as dangerous as they do. “I’m not him. I’m better. I’m not as weak.”

“I won’t let you hurt them,” Keith says, finally summoning the blade on his bayard and going into fighting stance, hands and weapon raised, feet apart for maximum balance and maneuverability.

“We’ll see about that.”

The noise the bionic hand, glowing a deep, violent purple, makes as it clashes with Keith’s blade is a screeching metal sound, like the scraping of nails over a chalkboard, like the screeching tires before a car crash. It rings in Keith’s ears as he jumps back, out of immediate reach, drops down into a crouch. The copy comes after him, fast as lightning, with all of Shiro’s abilities and none of his unwillingness to seriously injure. They meet swing for swing as Keith rolls to the side, coming to land on one knee, his other leg bent to balance him.

The copy is relentless, never once letting him catch his breath, coming at him with severe blow after blow, forcing Keith to block more than he is comfortable with. And yet, he’s reluctant to injure; he’s been training with Shiro ever since the Garrison and they never went easy on each other. He knows, logically, that this man he’s fighting isn’t Shiro, of course he knows, but his heart and, more importantly, muscle memory refuse to obey reason on this one. He hesitates, pulls his punches, knowing full well how utterly stupid it is because the copy _is out to kill_ and yet… and yet.

“Silly boy,” the copy taunts. “You can’t keep them safe if you can’t even fight properly!”

“Shut up!”

The glowing bionic hand slices through the air and Keith bends backwards trying to evade it. He manages but only barely so, feeling the searing heat that it emanates dangerously close to his face. He brings up the blade to attack but it gets blocked by the copy – with his bare hand, the real, flesh and skin one.

Keith’s eyes grow wide at the sight of the vibrant red blood pouring out of the cut, at the flash of white bone peeking through the wound. Lowering his bayard in horror, he can only stare. The copy looks at its injured hand with something like idle curiosity, teeth bared in a cruel smirk again when those grey eyes meet Keith’s.

“Would you look at that,” it says. “Is that how you would treat the man you love?”

Keith feels sick, nauseated by the sight of blood.

“You’re not him,” he says, croaks, hands trembling.

“Or am I?” Wiping the blood on the fabric of his pants – Shiro’s pants – the copy grins. “What did he tell you when he turned you down, again? That it wasn’t the right moment? Not what the team needs?” It’s coming closer and it’s all Keith can do to retreat, sword drawn protectively between them. “You know he lied, don’t you? That he was just letting you down gently? That he couldn’t care less about the feelings you have for him?”

“Shut up,” Keith hisses.

“Nobody cares about you, Keith,” the copy continues, taking another swing at him. Keith blocks it with his blade, drops down to kick at the copies legs but only earns himself a kick to the chest, causing him to topple over and land on his back. Year of practice have him use the momentum of the fall instinctively, rolling backwards so he lands on his knees, quickly standing up to dodge another blow.

“And Lance? He’s just lonely,” the copy continues, cruel as ever, unrelenting in its assault. Blow after blow and Keith – Keith can’t keep doing this, he knows. “You know how he is, flirting with everything and everyone… You’re just a distraction, Keith! As soon as someone better comes along, he’ll drop you, we both know it.”

“Shut _up!_ ”

Something in his brain just shuts off at the constant taunts and jeers, at having all his secrets laid bare and thrown back into his face, all his fears and insecurities. He practically growls with the anger coursing through his veins like a wildfire, throwing away all the hesitation. This man isn’t Shiro, his Shiro would _never_ say any of these things, would never intentionally hurt Keith like this and Keith is sick and tired of hearing this asshole speak, of having to listen to all these cruel things in Shiro’s voice, formed by Shiro’s lips.

“Poor Keith, can’t bear to hear the truth!” the copy triumphs, actually delighted by Keith’s rage and the force with which he’s coming at it now. “Will you cry?”

“You wish,” Keith spits, hacking and slashing and getting increasingly angrier with every blocked hit. The blade crashes against the bionic again, the screeching of metal against metal ringing in Keith’s ears so loud that he nearly misses the warning roar of a Lion. He glances up at Black whose eyes glow a deep shade of blue, at her open jaw and the roar that seems to rattle the walls.

“Calling for backup now? What is it, Keith, too weak after all?”

“ _Just shut up!_ ”

He’s so fucking angry, he nearly goes blind with it. It’s probably exactly what the copy wants but fuck if he cares at this point. Keith wants to wipe that nasty smirk of the features he’s come to love years ago, wants to never hear a voice so beloved say such cruel things again. Kick, blow, slash, evade. A dance, albeit a deadly one, but one he knows well, having traded blows with Shiro for years. Of course, this isn’t Shiro he’s fighting and he’s not the starry-eyed pilot trainee anymore but it’s familiar enough that Keith allows himself to be angry, to let it lead him, to power his blows and spur him into action, to drive off every trace of hesitation.

He can’t afford to hesitate – not anymore.

Black lets out another roar, even more earth-shattering than the last one, and he can hear the other Lions joining in, calling for their paladins, warning them of the tragedy that’s unfurling in the hangars. Keith ignores it, bent on ending this before the others arrive, before anybody gets hurt. Just the thought of Lance or any of the others getting hurt…

He grunts with the effort of holding his blade steady when the sword crashes against the copy’s arm, almost carelessly brought up to shield his face. A sideways kick with the heel of one foot against the copy’s knee forces it into a crouch and Keith yanks back his bayard to deliver a final blow.

“Keith, what the…?!”

Lance.

For the smallest fraction of a second, Keith’s eyes flicker to the entrance where Lance and the others are standing, eyes wide in horror. It’s an automatic response to hearing this voice, instinctual, basically part of his very being by now – and it’s enough for the copy to react.

A searing, white hot pain is the first thing that he registers.

Lance’s scream, horror and shock and _pain_ , is the last.


	5. Chapter 5

Lance is under no illusion that Keith is anything but an idiot hothead who rushes off into danger without so much as thinking, consequences be damned. He’s always known and, if he’s completely honest, it’s kind of part of the appeal; who doesn’t want somebody to risk limb and life for you? Lance definitely does and even though he gets stress migraines sometimes trying to keep this idiot safe and out of too much trouble, he’s completely gone on his edgy emo boyfriend. It’s humbling, somehow, to have someone who’s ready to catch a bullet for you and even though you’d do the same for them, it’s just… somehow special when somebody is willing to do it for _you_.

And normally, Lance doesn’t mind so much even though he yells and bitches and fucking worries about the asshole he’s decided to go and fall in love with. Normally, Keith gives him a cocky grin, managing to look both adorable and sexy at the same time, even covered in blood (sometimes his own).

Normally, though, Lance doesn’t walk in on his boyfriend battling a goddamn _clone_ who looks exactly like the guy Lance low-key had a crush on since he first saw him. _Normally_ , his boyfriend doesn’t end up being stabbed right before his eyes, run through like he’s nothing but a sack of flesh instead of the beautiful human being Lance has come to love.

“ _Keith!!_ ” The scream that wrestles itself out of his chest is inhuman, raw, an animal sound comprised of pure horror and anguish. He vaguely registers Allura’s horrified shout, Hunk’s roar of shock but his entire being seems to focus onto the purple glowing hand sticking out of Keith’s back. His world zeroes in on the quiet, shocked gasp, the small gurgle Keith lets out, the thin trickle of blood that runs down his lip and chin, the way Keith’s eyes roll back into his head as he loses consciousness. He doesn’t hear the way Pidge’s breath hitches, doesn’t see Hunk already summoning his gun to blast the fucker out of existence who dared to lay a hand on one of them, doesn’t see Allura staggering against Coran for support.

All he sees is the radiant, purple-white blast of _something_ , pure light and energy surrounding Keith’s limp form, all he hears is Black’s roar, deafening in his ears.

It’s like watching a slow-motion horror movie –drops of blood falling to the floor, Keith’s head falling forward so his hair covers his pale, shocked face, the light covering more and more of Keith’s body until, particle for particle, it seems, said body starts disappearing. In the time – an endless moment, time seemingly standing still – it takes Lance to blink, however, there’s another blinding flash of light and Keith is just… gone.

Not dead, not fallen to the floor but just _gone_ , disappeared into thin air, with nothing more left behind to prove his existence than the too loud clatter of his bayard on the floor and the blood coating the copy’s still raised hand.

For a long, long moment, nothing happens, everyone – including the clone or whatever the fuck it is, Lance is beyond caring at this point – frozen, still staring at the spot where Keith stood just a split second ago. Then, several things happen at once.

For one, Lance summons his bayard without a second thought, already leveling the rifle at the clone. At the same moment, Black roars again, her front paw shooting forward to knock the clone off balance – only a second later, Pidge’s and Allura’s whip-like bayards wrap around the clone’s arms, immediately immobilizing him.

And Lance…

Sniping is a sort of art, he’s come to find. The art of carefully scoping your target, aiming, bracing for the gun’s recoil. The art of hitting a target point-blank from a distance, of staying out of sight while your enemies drop like flies, hit by your bullets. When Lance entered the Garrison, guns have not been his forte, he’s always been uncomfortable in close combat. But when he first stepped on the shooting range and the officer in charge handed him a sniper rifle? Lance fucking _nailed it_.

He could easily headshot the goddamn fucker, blast him out of existence _with a single shot_. He could do it, no problem.

But he won’t.

His bullet, even from across half the hangar, hits the clone’s shoulder with enough force to knock him off his feet, flesh and metal exploding with a disgusting sound as the bullet rips through muscle and tendons, severs the wiring and whatever else makes the bionic arm work. The clone screams with pain but Lance feels no remorse; actually, he feels nothing.

Writhing in pain, the clone tries to grab onto his injured shoulder with his good arm but Allura’s whip, still wrapped tightly around his wrist, won’t let him. Lance starts walking, movements almost mechanical, until he’s close enough to grab the asshole’s shirt, haul him to his feet and look him straight in the eyes, still glowing this eerie yellow that makes Lance want to yell and punch things.

“What,” he grits out, voice strange to his own ears, dangerously low, “have you done to him?!” The clone coughs, spits blood – his injured shoulder is mangled, an absolute mess that Lance refuses to look at because fuck, fuck, there’s already so much blood!

“K-killed him,” he clone wheezes, still grinning in triumph despite the blood splattered across his face, despite the pain he must be in.

“ _What_ ,” Lance repeats, punctuating each word with a shake, voice dropping to a growl, “have you _done_ to him?!”

He doesn’t believe for a second that Keith is dead. He can’t. If he believes that, he’ll just drop to his knees sobbing and fuck, Lance can’t afford that right now. He needs to know what happened, what that light was, where Keith _is_. He needs to know and then, _then_ he’ll finally kill the fucker who dared to lay a finger on his Keith.

“D-don’t…” The clone is coughing again, blood dripping out of his mouth, possible due to a punctured lung. “Know… but hope… ‘s _dead_ …!”

“You’re lying!”

“Ask… ‘r … f-fuck’n… lion…”

“ _Tell me!_ ”

The clone just spits in his face. But before Lance can shake the fucker once more or yell at him to fucking tell him what just happened to Keith, Allura appears next to him, swiftly jamming her hand against one, two, three pressure points and the clone goes limp in Lance’s hands.

“NO!”

“Lance!”

He whirls around to her, fury and fear in a terrible mix, a maelstrom in his chest threatening to drag him down, even as Allura grabs his shoulders, forces him to let go of the unconscious clone.

“Lance!” she says again, voice urgent and eyes fixed on his. “Stop it! He doesn’t know!”

“He has to know! I have to… to…!”

“He doesn’t _know_ ,” Allura repeats gently, imploringly. “Lance. You have to calm down, you won’t get anything out of him like this.”

“But…”

Despite his protest though, he has no fight left in him anymore. Lance isn’t a fighter, not by nature, not like Keith and Shiro, he’s not made for combat against real people, much less people wearing a face he knows after having injured and possibly killed someone he _loves_. He suddenly becomes aware of Hunk, Pidge and Coran tying the clone up and shuffling him away, out of sight, of the mix of blood and spit on his cheek. He blinks rapidly, several times, coming back to himself. Allura lets out a breath and carefully lets go of him, taking a piece of cloth out of her armor (he’d wonder about it, he really would but he thinks he might be going into shock and really, all his mind screams is _Keith fuck no Keith no no no_ ) to wipe his cheek clean.

“Lance, we have to…”

“He’s gone,” Lance interrupts, hollow and hoarse. “He’s – he’s really gone. I was too late to protect him…”

“Lance, no,” Allura says immediately, grabbing his shoulders again. “You couldn’t have known, none of us did. You cannot blame yourself for this, please.”

Except he does. Because that’s what Lance does, okay? He promised to protect Keith, to be there for him but eventually, he was too late. And now… now Keith is…

“He’s _gone_ ,” he whispers and then makes the mistake to look down at the floor. There are droplets of blood there and… oh, yeah. His hands are also full of blood now because he grabbed the clone’s shirt.

Lance swallows, hard.

“Fuck…”

He doesn’t even feel the impact of his knees on the floor, doesn’t hear Allura calling his name, doesn’t see anything but the blood coating his hands and the floor and Keith’s abandoned bayard. A numbness spreads its way from the tips of his fingers down his arms, overtakes his entire body until all that’s left is a huge, gaping hole the size of _Keith_ inside his heart, the edges broken and inflamed, raw and hurting and burning so painfully that he starts trembling from head to toe, like a small leaf in the wind.

He might be hyperventilating, he really doesn’t know, but the fact that he just can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs certainly is a fair point, just like the disgusting tingly sensation of his numb fingers. It’s like a bad dream, the way he can’t move, can’t breathe, all precision and cold fury lost as his own bayard finally clatters to the ground. How is it that Lance can’t do anything? Why can’t he protect anything that’s important to him? He can’t do anything right, can’t rescue Keith or save Shiro, can’t keep Blue, can’t… he can’t…!

Allura’s arms wraps around him and she keeps talking into his ear in low, calming words, hugging him so tightly as if that could make the pieces of him stick back together. Lance hears someone sob and realizes with horror, belatedly, that it’s him, he’s the one crying, he’s crying in Allura’s arms while she holds him and strokes his back and whispers reassuring nonsense. He should probably be embarrassed about this and whoo boy, he probably will be later but right now? He can’t be assed to feel anything but pain and loss while he sobs into Allura’s shoulder and clings to her like she’s the one thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

What feels like hours later, he’s finally exhausted himself, no tears left and just the occasional hiccup making its way up Lance’s throat that feels sore from all the sobbing. His eyes hurt and he has no doubts that they’re red-rimmed and poofy but the worst is the headache that’s drilling away at his skull, insistent and forceful, like a tiny gnome intent on hammering against his brain to find something of worth. Tough luck for the little guy, there’s nothing of worth up there.

The thought makes him bark out a laugh, a choked off, ugly thing that borders on hysteria and makes Allura sit back on her heels, giving him a look that clearly questions his sanity. Lance feels it’s pretty safe to say that he’s gone cuckoo, completely _loco_ but somehow he doesn’t think Allura will appreciate him saying that out loud. So he settles for clearing his throat and wiping his cheeks with the back of one hand.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbles, unable to meet her eye. Allura sighs, all tension leaving her body as she shakes her head.

“You don’t need to apologize to me for having feelings, Lance.” She gives him a small smile full of affection and warmth, reminding him so much of his older sister Marisol that he almost tears up again. He probably would, if he had any tears left. So all he can do is sniff and take a breath, glancing at where Keith’s bayard is still lying.

“What do we do now…?” he whispers, unable to come up with any sort of plan. This is Shiro’s disappearance all over again, except that much worse because none of them had to witness Shiro getting stabbed. Above him, Black hangs her head, looking oddly sad for a magical sentient robot cat. One of her paws comes up to touch the small puddle of blood on the ground, nosing at it as if she can pick up Keith’s scent. Allura watches the giant black lion paw at the ground and lifts a hand to touch the big metal paw, petting it gently.

“I don’t know,” she admits, for once not the powerful alien princess but just another teenager, lost and scared and sad. Black lets out a mournful sound, lying down on the ground and resting her head on top of her paws like a sad housecat. Lance wonders silently if she’s as affected by this as he is, if the loss of not one but two of her paladins hurts her as much as it does their ragtag team. If she misses Keith as much as he does.

He doesn’t know how long they just sit on the ground, silent. But then Allura lifts her head, eyes shining with determination and all at once, she sheds the skin of the scared teenage girl and becomes the Princess of Altea again, all grace and beauty and sharp wit and strength rolled in one.

“But we _will_ figure it out,” she says, looking at him with so much confidence that he can’t help but believe her. “All of us, together. As a team.” She gets up, dust off her suit and holds out a hand to him, the lights of the hangar giving her an almost halo, making her seem even more ethereal than she already is with the white, silky hair and those eyes filled with stars, the picture of beauty and power.

(He’d probably fall in love with her if his feelings for her were anything but purely platonic, if she were anything but a sister for him.)

And Lance, well. He isn’t a leader, never has been and probably never will. He isn’t a leader but he sure as hell is somebody who knows how to follow, how to be someone’s right hand. So he nods, lets her help him stand and takes a deep breath. They gather both Keith’s and Lance’s bayards together, then leave the hangar in silence, not looking back.

 

Behind them, unnoticed, Black stares at the puddle of blood for a few minutes before shutting down, letting her mind wander across the expanse of galaxies, across the whole universe, reaching out for her paladins.

 

* * *

 

That evening, while Lance nurses a space tea (courtesy of Hunk) and tries to ignore the headache all that crying brought, Allura enters the dining hall with a dark look, deep shadows under her eyes. Coran takes one look at her and jumps to his feet, hurriedly pulling back a chair so she can slump down on it, pale and exhausted. She’s followed by Pidge, muttering under her breath, typing away at a tablet, brows drawn tight in a frown and worrying at her lower lip.

“Princess…?” Coran ventures carefully, sliding her a cup of tea that she and Lance share a fondness of.

“I’ve taken care of … of the clone,” she says, voice quiet but determined. “He won’t be a problem anymore.”

For a moment, Lance is tempted to ask what she did to that asshole and if he suffered for whatever he’s done to Keith but if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t actually want to know. He’s alright not knowing what exactly happened to him and if Allura says he won’t be a problem, then he believes her. And yet, the grip on his cup of tea tightens enough to make his knuckles turn white. Hunk, bless his soul, notices and quickly pulls Lance into a one armed hug, throwing one arm around his shoulders and well, Hunk’s hugs are like huge fluffy clouds of awesome. Grateful, Lance sinks against his best friend and lets go of the cup before he succumbs to the urge to throw it across the room.

“We got some valuable information out of him, though,” Pidge says. She plops down on the chair on Lance’s other side and leans into him almost imperceptibly, still not a fan of people but offering her silent support to him the best she can. “We used that memory recorder we tried on Sendak…”

“Apparently, he was part of a whole project,” Allura nods, sipping at her tea absently. Her eyes are focused on a spot far, far away.

“Project _Kuron_ ,” Pidge spits, sounding disgusted. Lance throws her a questioning look to which she shrugs. “It’s a play on words. They think they’re so clever… You know, it’s supposed to be a darker version of Shiro. One who isn’t ‘weighed down by a conscience’ or some crap like that.”

“Wait, so there’s _more_ of those creepy Shiros running around?” Hunk looks and sounds as horrified as Lance feels. “Wasn’t one of them enough?”

“His memories at least didn’t show any of the others,” Pidge offers. “So it’s likely he was the entire point of the project. And to think, he was… so close to our Shiro, it’s scary.” Lance nods slightly, just a soft bop of his head. Sure, there were little things that felt off from the beginning but he can’t deny that the clone came dangerously close to fooling all of them. If they had ignored all the small hints… if they had been just a little more trusting…

He shudders and Hunk gives him a comforting squeeze in response.

“So the Galra know our weaknesses,” he concludes but Coran shakes his head from where he’s still standing dutifully next to his princess.

“It’s only what they _perceive_ as a weakness,” he says, twirling one end of his mustache. “You may have a conscience, yes, but that doesn’t mean it gives them an advantage. Look at what you’ve accomplished so far! You have freed dozens of planets! You have grown as a team! One might even say, you have become a sort of family.” He regards them all warmly and Lance immediately thinks that if anyone deserves the title of ‘space dad’, it’s Coran who adopted all of them the second they showed up at the Castle of Lions, who gave all of them a home and made them feel welcome. “The fact that you know each other well enough to recognize a fake in your midst is outstanding!”

They all stare at him in astonishment. It’s silent for a moment, Coran regarding them with such a fire in his eyes that Lance is actually really touched. However, before he can do anything silly as tear up again (seriously, he has a reputation to uphold, he can’t be crying all the time) Hunk clears his throat, somewhat awkwardly.

“As touching as this sentiment is, really, I appreciate it,” the big guy says, looking equally apologetic and doubtful, “but this helps us how, exactly, right now?”

Lance actually has to laugh at the almost comically insulted face Coran pulls and before he knows what’s happening, the others are laughing along and Coran looks… damn, the guy actually looks smug, like he’s been planning to cheer them up all along. And hell, that was probably exactly what Coran was thinking.

Allura seems to have picked up on it too, looking up at her caretaker with a small, grateful smile before taking a deep breath and relaxing somewhat, the tension slipping out of her.

“We should get some rest,” she suggests. “And then, tomorrow… we will figure out what to do.” There are no protests to that – Lance hasn’t slept a wink after leaving the hangar and he bets that it’s the same for the others. How are you supposed to sleep after something like that, anyway? And the dark circles under everyone’s eyes speak volumes all on their own.

They disperse slowly, each to their own rooms. Pidge is being half-carried, half-dragged by Hunk because she halfheartedly protests that she needs to make some more calculations but Hunk will have none of it. Lance hears them quietly banter all the way down to Pidge’s room and has to smile to himself. That smile, however, vanishes quickly when he realizes how horribly _empty_ his bed will be without Keith.

It’s not that they sleep in the same bed every night – sometimes Keith returns from his workouts way too late to bother sneaking into Lance’s room and sometimes, they simply need some space because boy, is it not healthy to be holed up together all the fucking time. But right now, in this instant, the thought of sleeping on his own makes his blood run cold and his heart skip a beat before it starts on something like a one-man marathon against his ribs. For a moment, Lance fears that he might start to hyperventilate again which, yeah no thanks, been there, done that, 0/10, would not do again. But he forces himself to take a slow, deliberate breath to calm himself down, turning resolutely to where Hunk is just leaving Pidge’s room, no doubt having forced their youngest paladin to _actually go to sleep_.

“You okay, buddy?” Hunk when he notices him but instead of giving an answer, Lance just hugs his best friend, squeezing his eyes shut against the suspicious burning of more tears. And Hunk, bless him, just hugs him back, humming in understanding.

“You wanna sleep in my room tonight? Mind you, there’s not that much space but… eh, we’ll make do. It’ll be like old times.”

Lance smiles in spite of himself and nods against Hunk’s shoulder, subtly sniffing to himself. Hunk pats his back and they make their way to Hunk’s room.

How the big guy manages to have his room exclude so much warmth and safety when all their rooms look exactly the same will forever be a mystery to Lance. Sure, they all have decorated their respective sleeping quarters in their own way – Pidge has printouts and schematics plastered all over her walls, as well as complicated looking calculations scattered across the floor, Keith has a weird assortment of weapons from various planets lined up on the wall opposite his bed and Lance himself has taken some artistic creativities with rocks, plants and other knickknacks from the planets they’ve liberated to give his room some personality.

Hunk’s room is no different in that regard; it has some potted plants strewn around which he no doubt has given names to, just like in their joined room back at the Garrison. One or two of the weird alien flowers are actually blooming where they stand next to the bed, giving it a vaguely tropical feel. Maybe it’s the fact that Hunk’s room is generally kept warmer than the others that makes Lance feel safe here – or maybe it’s the sheer amount of blankets, pillows and other soft things that Hunk seems to have amassed so that his room looks more like a comfy nest than an actual room.

It’s hard not to instantly brighten up so Lance doesn’t even try to fight the small, pleased smile that’s spreading on his face.

“Awesome, dude,” he tells his best friend honestly, causing Hunk to give him an embarrassed shrug in return. Still, he seems pleased that Lance likes his interior design choices and it doesn’t take them too long to cuddle up together on Hunk’s bed. It’s a tight fit, yeah, but they’re used to it – countless sleepovers from their childhood have prepared them for this, they’ve got this. After a minimal amount of shifting until Hunk is on his back with Lance half on top of him, they pull the blankets up and Lance allows himself to relax a bit.

Other guys in this situation would probably go ‘no homo bro’ but Lance has never seen the point of that in his friendship with Hunk. They’re best buds, brothers from different mothers, there has never been a need for the ridiculously fragile act of pure masculinity. And he’s glad for that, really. Who else has the luck of having his brother while floating through space on a mission to rescue the whole damn universe?

So Lance closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

He’s got a boyfriend to find tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much angst.  
> If you guys feel the need to yell at me in person, feel free to visit my tumblr - joyfullychaotic.tumblr.com  
> I'll happily answer any and all questions there.  
> Thanks for reading and stay tuned for the next part!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please trust me when I say - I honestly have no idea where I'm heading with this myself. But thank you to all those who are willing to stick this out with me! :)

If losing consciousness was painful, waking up is pure _agony_. He can’t remember even having been so in pain before, like every single one of his cells is on fire, his blood curling with lava in his veins, every cell a firework of explosions. It’s a fight to even crack open his eyes, immediately squeezing them shut again at the onslaught of brightness, skull split open by a headache so fierce he only sees stars.

“Shit, he’s waking up…!”

“Damn it… we have to put him back under!”

“N-No…” Keith groans or at least thinks, _hopes_ he does. “Need to…”

“You don’t need to do anything right now,” a voice interrupts him and he swears he knows it but his head is a single black hole of pain and he just can’t _concentrate_. Through the biting fire in his veins, he feels the pinprick of something so utterly _cold_ , he yells, screams, as the cold makes its way through his body, pulling him back under, back into the black and red of oblivion.

 

* * *

 

There are flashes of consciousness, in-between bouts of cold and heat, little snippets of light among the darkness surrounding him. He hears voices and possibly even sees silhouettes but he can’t recognize any of them, lost and small in the middle of nowhere of awareness. He thinks that there’s a familiar touch there, sometimes, and he thinks of blues and whites and water and the skies but he can’t tell if it’s real or just another dream, another illusion, another lie he’s fallen prey to.

When he does finally come to, the light is almost blinding but he forces himself to blink against the veil of blackness and focus on his surroundings. There’s a shadowy silhouette somewhere above him, dark against the brightness of the lights on the ceiling (it _is_ a ceiling he realizes, he’s in a room…) and it looks so familiar, the way the hair sticks out at the silhouette’s nape and curls softly.

“Pi…dge…?” he slurs, confused and relieved at the same time. There’s movement, then a soft, surprised noise.

“Pidge? What’s that supposed to be?”

He frowns. He knows that voice but… It’s not Pidge, he knows it’s not. It’s too deep, for one. And yet…

“Easy there, buddy, you’re still drugged. We had to, with the wound you had… It would’ve killed you otherwise.”

“I… I don’t…” He feels sluggish, his tongue not listening to him, mind processing way too slowly.

“Understand? Yeah, that makes two of us. But for now, you should just get some rest.”

“N-No… I got to… to…” He tries to get up, he really does but his arms give out under him the second he puts some weight on them and he groans with pain as it shoots through his body like spikes of lightning.

“Whoa!” He’s being pressed back into a horizontal position by two strong hands and it takes him a moment to understand that he’s lying on a pillow, a warm blanket covering him up to his chest. “I told you to take it easy. Always can count on you to have problems with orders, huh Keith?”

“Wha...?” He blinks and the face above his slowly comes into focus with a surprising amount of clarity. “M- _Matt_ …?”

“Ah, so there _is_ a brain in there!” Matt grins at him and Keith has trouble to understand anything. How…? Why…? Too many questions with nowhere near enough answers render him silent, too shocked to actually say anything.

Matt Holt looks tired and worn out, a scar on his forehead leading up into his hairline, freckles stark against the paleness of his skin. His hair is longer than Keith remembers, less tame, but then again, it’s been ages since he’s seen him, hasn’t it?

“But… how…?”

“I’ll tell you later if you promise to get some rest.” Matt smiles, eyes crinkling with it and if Keith isn’t completely crazy, then the oldest Holt is actually _happy_. “God knows, you won’t get much of it once Shiro hears you’re awake.”

“Shiro…? I don’t… how…?”

“Later,” Matt says again, gently covering Keith’s eyes with one hand. And Keith wants to struggle, wants to stay awake, wants answers and an explanation but oh, the sudden darkness against his still strained eyes is like a blessing he didn’t realize he needed. Drifting back to sleep, Keith can just mumble Shiro’s name again before he’s already out like a light again.

 

* * *

 

The next time he wakes up, he feels slightly less like he’s wrapped in cotton and more like he’s taken a way too long nap. His face hurts and his muscles are weirdly sore but he feels more or less awake and much more like himself, even if there’s a hollow pit in his stomach signifying that it’s been ages since he ate anything. Rubbing a hand over his face, he sits up slowly, wincing when his stomach muscles light up with pain, the sharp sting of a closing wound. A gasp escapes him even though this is nothing compared to what the pain was before. He breathes through it, with clenched teeth and one hand pressed to his stomach, right over the wound. With the worst of it passed, Keith looks around, taking in his surroundings for the first time.

He’s in a room, possibly on board a ship – it’s hard to tell exactly but there’s the quiet hum of an engine somewhere underneath him, a barely there vibration of movement. His head is still pounding a bit but the lights above him don’t hurt his eyes as much so he can take in the rest of the small room. A desk, a chair, something that looks like a chest for belonging, and a bed he’s currently sitting on. It’s sparse, nothing more than a place to sleep, convenience over comfort or homeliness. A pang of something like yearning zings through his heart and he realizes with no small amount of shock that it’s _homesickness_ and he actually misses his own room in the Castle and that is a whole new sensation he isn’t ready to deal with. At least not at the moment. Because in that moment, the door on the other end of the room opens and in comes…

“ _Shiro_.” He breathes the name more than he really speaks it, their eyes meeting across the room and the next thing he knows is that he’s wrapped in Shiro’s arms, one hand in his hair and wetness against his cheek and he doesn’t understand, can’t wrap his mind around it but he knows, he _knows_ on an existential level, somewhere deep inside his stupid little heart, that this is the real Shiro, no clone or copy, it’s _Shiro_ and he’s crying before he even knows what’s happening.

“Shiro, I don’t… how… you’re – you’re here, I can’t…” He’s rambling and he knows it but his brain just refuses to compute, to even try and grasp the reality of being in Shiro’s arms after someone with the exact same face stabbed him. And oh God, he’s been stabbed…! He’s been stabbed and the others were _there_ and _Lance saw everything_ …!

He’s hyperventilating, fingers numbing and head pounding, lungs working overtime and still not getting enough air. There are hands on his cheeks, rough and calloused and so _familiar_ , and a voice, deep and steady, telling him to _Breathe, Keith_.

It feels like ages until he’s able to calm down, to match the calm and deliberate breaths Shiro is taking, his hands still on Keith’s face, grounding and anchoring him in the here and now. Breathing in unison, Keith takes in Shiro’s face, so close to his own, some stubble on his chin and a new scar crossing his brow, hair long and in a messy bun, eyes shining with warmth and relief.

“It’s really you,” he breathes and Shiro’s mouth splits in a smile.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He leans their foreheads together and they both close their eyes, just breathing together for a while longer. “You have no idea how worried I was, when you suddenly showed up like that…”

“You were just _gone_ ,” Keith replies, shaking his head and opening his eyes, drinking in the sight in front of him like a man dying of thirst. “We couldn’t… we didn’t know, we searched _everywhere_ but we just...”

“I know, I know…” Shiro gently wipes away some tears from Keith’s cheeks with his thumbs. “And I’m so, so sorry… I wanted to contact you but I couldn’t, this place is too important, we can’t send out signals. We could’ve alerted the Galra and I couldn’t risk it, I’m so sorry…”

“What happened to you?” Keith demands to know, lifting one hand to touch Shiro’s face, carefully and almost with reverence, fearing that this is a dream, after all, and it all will go up in smoke the second he touches him. But Shiro and the room stay where they are and he actually closes his eyes and leans into Keith’s hand cupping his cheek.

“I’m – not sure,” Shiro admits then, eyes opening and darting across Keith’s face as if he, too, is making sure that this isn’t a dream. “It’s, it was… it all happened so fast but I think… I think Black saved me.”

“But… how?”

“I think… No, I know. The Black Lion, it’s… it can transcend time and space. I’m not sure how but… when Zarkon attacked, back during that battle…” Shiro frowns, trying to remember. “We – we met. We _fought_ , inside my mind…”

“What?”

“It’s… I can’t really explain it, it’s like Zarkon was connected to the Lion somehow and so was I and we fought but… but he was stronger than me, I was losing and – and Black intervened, she used her power to teleport me away, to rescue me.” Shiro licks his lips and Keith is a weak, weak man because despite the whole situation, despite being in love with Lance and missing him fiercely already, he can’t help but drop his gaze to follow the movement. Shiro notices him looking and his face does something very complicated before finally settling on that small smile that’s only ever been reserved for Keith, eyes impossibly warm.

“She did the same for you,” he says, covering Keith’s hand on his cheek with his own. “Didn’t she?” And Keith – Keith just sinks against him, their lips meeting in a kiss, mouths moving against each other, gripping at each other’s shoulders and hair.

“Keith,” Shiro tries to protest although he doesn’t stop kissing Keith, mumbling the words weakly into his mouth. “We can’t, we’re…”

“I don’t care,” Keith gasps back. “I thought you were _dead_ and then that – that clone showed up and he, he knew, he knew, Shiro, I…”

“Wait, wait, what?” They break apart though Keith tries his damndest to chase after Shiro’s lips and fuck, he doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to _think_ , he wants to sink into Shiro’s arms and never leave him ever again. But Shiro catches Keith’s face with both hands again, gently pushing Keith away enough to be able to look him into the eye. “What clone? What are you…?”

“They _cloned_ you,” Keith grits out, the memory of it bitter in his mouth, his stomach wound twisting itself into painful knots. “The Galra. They made a copy of you and send him to us and we – we almost…” He swallows, remembering his own denial, the way he refused to see all the little hints. The way Lance had to force him to see reason, to accept the truth. “I fought him, I couldn’t risk him hurting the others but he…” He trails off, hanging his head. His eyes wander down to his belly, covered by his shirt but now that he actually concentrates on it, he can feel the rough bandages wrapped around his lower torso.

“Keith…”

“Please.” He lifts his head, looking into those warm, grey eyes, filled with affection and concern. His heart hurts. “Please, Shiro.”

He’s not even sure what exactly he’s asking for, what it is he’s begging Shiro for. But Shiro seems to understand nonetheless, already leaning back in to press their lips together, either too weak to resist any longer or having decided that none of his arguments from before matter anymore. Keith nearly sobs with relief, letting himself fall into the sure and steady embrace of the arms holding him, sinking into the kiss as if his life depends on it. It’s not a tame kiss by any account, open-mouthed and tongues sliding against each other and the hand in Keith’s hair pressing against his scalp wonderfully, deliciously real. He’s pretty sure he’s trembling, shivering from head to toes but he’s long past caring, his world zeroed in on the feeling of Shiro’s warmth against his own body, on the hot and wet slide of tongues, the way Shiro is holding him like he’s fragile, something precious, something that needs to be handled with care. It’s so much like the way Lance looks at him and yet so unlike it that he’s sent reeling, vertigo overtaking him and causing him to helplessly clutch at Shiro’s shirt.

“Shiro, have you– Oh for the love of…! Really?!”

They break apart like they’re hit by a bucket of cold water and Keith can already feel himself blush up to the roots of his hair, even before he sees a very disgruntled looking Matt Holt standing in the door. Shiro, tips of his ears bright red, clears his throat.

“Uh… hey Matt…”

“I leave you alone for ten minutes,” Matt huffs, coming closer so the door slides shut behind him. He’s holding a bottle of… something, a fizzing and slightly disconcerting pink liquid that he’s holding out for Keith to take. “Drink it. It’s filled with nutrients and some more painkillers, the best we can do at the moment for you.” Keith takes the bottle but can’t stop staring at Matt.

“You… weren’t a dream,” he says dumbly. Matt barks a laugh and looks over to Shiro.

“You two really are one of a kind, aren’t you?” He smiles and plops down on the chair next to Keith’s bed. “Shiro here couldn’t believe it either.”

“Would you blame us?” Shiro leans back somewhat, opting to sit down on the edge of the bed instead of kneeling next to it. Keith automatically leans into him so they’re pressed together from shoulder to elbow. “The last time _I_ saw you was back at… the Galra Arena. And Keith hasn’t seen you since before Kerberos.”

“We thought,” Keith starts and trails off again, shaking his head. “Pidge – I mean, your sister, she’s looking for you, she’s… she wants to find you.” For a moment, Matt looks pained. He turns his head, avoiding Keith’s eyes, chewing on his lower lip. All signs of worry, anxiety. But ultimately, he takes a breath, pulling himself together and straightening up again.

“Shiro’s told me, yes,” he nods, finally meeting Keith’s gaze again. “But I can’t… this is too big, too important. If Katie really is… a part of Voltron, she’s under constant surveillance by the Galra. I want to contact her, I really do but…” He shakes his head. “She’d understand.”

“I really doubt that,” Keith mumbles but if Matt hears him, he doesn’t show it. Keith thinks of how Pidge stays up night after night, of her staring at screens and notepads full of calculations, of finding her asleep in ever odd places, curled around her laptop or another notepad. Of the hope written across her face whenever they find another independent colony or meet with some rebels who aren’t part of the Blade of Marmora, of the disappointed sag of her shoulders when they find no other trace of the Holts, again. So no, Keith doesn’t think Pidge would understand – he’s pretty sure that she’s going to punch Matt if she ever does get her fingers on him.

Shiro nudges Keith’s shoulder with his own, nodding towards the bottle Keith is still holding.

“Drink,” he says. “You’ll feel better, I promise.” Keith looks at the pink liquid, sloshing it around a little. But he trusts Shiro, always has, so he nods and opens it, taking a first cautious sip. He half expects Matt to make a joke about what is actually inside the liquid like he probably would have done back at the Garrison but nothing, the oldest Holt sibling just remains silent, apparently lost in his own thoughts. So Keith drinks whatever it is that Matt has brought him. It tastes faintly of grapes although he seriously doubts that it’s actual grapes because they’re out in space and he hasn’t seen Earth food in over a year by now. The aftertaste is weird, a sweet and sour but he swallows it all, scrounging up his face only slightly as he feels it sizzling down his esophagus and into his stomach. Whatever it is that they gave him, it _does_ manage to make him feel better somewhat – the vertigo passes finally, the world seems to rebalance itself and the hollow pit in his stomach is mollified at least for now.

Shiro smiles at him, still so very warm and…

“Lance,” Keith suddenly remembers, the memory of Lance’s scream all too clear in his mind, the pain and anguish of it, his heart aching. “I – fuck, Lance, the others, I have to…”

“No,” Matt interrupts at once. Keith’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing in anger.

“They saw me got stabbed, for all they know I actually _died_! I have to contact them, to let them know I’m okay!”

“You can’t,” Shiro tries, hand on Keith’s shoulder to try and push him back onto the pillow but Keith won’t have any of it.

“No!” He fights against the iron grip Shiro has on him, trying to get out of bed. “I need to…!”

“You don’t understand,” Shiro says, resolutely refusing to let Keith get up. “We’re in no position to demand anything here – these people have been fighting the Galra for Thousands of years, they won’t risk being exposed for-“

“For what?” Keith spits. “A bunch of humans? A lowly half-Galra bastard? What?!” Anger bursting into a powerful rage at not being understood courses through his veins, a hot cloud of it veiling Keith’s sight as he tries and fails to fight against Shiro, to get past him, to get out of bed. Instead of helping Shiro however, Matt jumps to his feet, looking grim and determined.

“Shit, we need to alert-“

“No!” Shiro growls, actually _growls_ at Matt who’s almost halfway to the door already. “Matt, no, he’s in shock, you can’t – you know what they’ll do!”

“Then calm him _down_!” Matt yells. “We’re this close, they won’t risk losing everything over him having a breakdown!”

“Keith, please,” Shiro begs now, taking Keith’s face in both hands and looking him straight in the eyes. The imploring tone of his voice is mirrored in the expression in his eyes and Keith – Keith stops, at least for the moment. “You need to understand – these people, they’ve fought the Galra for so long, they don’t have any more room left for mercy or pity or – or sympathy. We _can’t_ contact the others. I’m sorry but… but this is how it is.”

“Then we leave,” Keith says, shaking his head as much as he can with Shiro’s hands still cupping his cheeks. “We leave and-“

“And what?” Shiro’s voice is gentle but sad, so very sad. “You’re still injured, Keith. They closed your wound, yes, but you still need to rest. You’re in no condition to go anywhere.”

“But you…”

“Do you really think I would leave you alone now?” There’s so much pain in Shiro’s expression that Keith stops breathing. “I… I missed you, Keith. And now that you’re here… It’s like a miracle.”

“The others…”

“They’ll find a way. I know they will.” Shiro sounds so sure of it, like there really is no doubt about any of it.”

Keith tries to argue, to fight, to insist. But the truth is that he’s exhausted, in pain and just… so tired of fighting. Just this once, he wants to curl up and not have to fight anymore and just be allowed to _be_. Guilt gnaws on his conscience and his heart and the memory of Lance screaming is a stark and horrible reminder of what he’s leaving behind.

And yet, he nods and allows himself to let Shiro push him back into the pillows, cover him with the blanket. He closes his eyes and turns away from the short conversation Shiro has with Matt, tense and in hushed tones, but ultimately, there’s the soft hiss of a door opening and sliding shut again. Keith opens his eyes again to find Shiro still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking just as tired as he feels himself.

It’s so easy to forget, sometimes, that Shiro isn’t that much older than him.

“Takashi,” Keith whispers and Shiro looks at him, obviously surprised at being called by his given name. Keith wants to ask where they even are, who those people are that supposedly won’t risk being exposed but he finds that right now, in this very moment, he doesn’t care very much. All he wants is to wrap his arms around Shiro and never let go again – but because he’s bad with words, he simply lifts a hand to wrap his fingers around Shiro’s wrist. And Shiro, because he’s an amazing human being who always seems to know just what Keith can’t express, gives him that small, precious smile before lying down next to him to carefully embrace him.

It’s a tight fit with two grown men on a small single bed obviously not made for cuddling but neither of them care. Curled around each other, drinking in the other’s proximity and warmth, they lie there, with Shiro’s arm carefully wrapped around Keith’s middle, not touching his healing wound, and Keith’s head half lying on Shiro’s other shoulder.

“I missed you, Takashi,” Keith admits quietly, feeling Shiro smile against his temple.

“I missed you too.”

Keith closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep, warm and safe and ignoring the nagging guilt at the back of his conscience.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid the updates might come a bit rarer now because I've got a job since Monday and have significantly less time to write. Thank you for sticking with me <3
> 
> Also, I do apologize for all the angst. And I PROMISE, I SWEAR there will be a happy end eventually. Trust me. Life has enough sad endings and I'm not in the business of adding to that ;)  
> Love you all!

The wound, once Keith actually gets a good look on it a few hours later, is not a nice sight, to say the least. He’s used to scratches and blood and even the occasional scar but the wound edges look red and infected, gnarly and ugly where they’ve been sort of stapled together. He knows better than to poke at it considering that it hurts and burns with every little movement even though he’s fairly sure that he would’ve done a better job of sewing the edges together.

“It’ll scar,” Shiro notes. He’s sitting on the chair next to the bed, carefully redressing Keith’s wound. The bandages are bloody and have traces of yellow pus on them but Shiro doesn’t seem disgusted, just making sure that the gauze pad fully covers the wound before picking up the new roll of bandages from the medical aid kit. Keith can feel Shiro’s breath on the back of his neck as he gently wraps the bandages around Keith’s torso, the proximity making him equally excited and nervous. He can feel a shiver run down his back, goosebumps breaking out on his arms. Behind him, Shiro hums.

“Are you cold?” His warm breath teases the tips of Keith’s hair, tickling the back of his neck. Keith holds his breath, shaking his head slightly.

“Takashi…” He doesn’t even know what he wants to say. But he needs to get this out, they _need_ to talk about the kiss and the cuddling and the fact that back at the Castle, Lance is waiting for him. “You said – back when we were at the Castle…”

“I know,” Shiro says, quiet and solemn. He’s still wrapping the bandages around Keith’s torso, hands steady and calm, as if they were talking about the weather.

“So… earlier…?”

“Keith…” Shiro sighs, finally lowering his hands. But since the bandages don’t unravel again, it probably just means that he’s done and not that he can’t concentrate on his work anymore. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t _want_ you to say anything,” Keith replies quietly, rubbing his naked arms. “I just need to know. Was it… a mistake? Are you going to regret it and we’ll never speak of it again? Or…”

“I don’t regret it, Keith. Yes, it was done on impulse but… I don’t regret it.”

Keith swallows, nods. Maybe he’s a coward but he doesn’t dare to look at Shiro right now and not just because looking over his shoulder would be a strain on his healing injury. The silence stretches between them, uncomfortable and heavy. Then, Shiro quietly says,

“When I told you that we couldn’t… I meant it. Voltron was an absolute priority – that and the fight against Zarkon. We had to do what was right, not what we wanted. We didn’t have that luxury.”

“… _Didn’t_? Past tense?”

Shiro sighs. It sounds like he has the weight of the entire universe on his shoulders, like he alone bears the responsibility for every mistake ever made. Keith wants so badly to turn around, to look him in the eyes, to hug him close but he’s also afraid of what he might see written across Shiro’s face. He survived one rejection, yes – but he’s pretty sure that if Shiro rejects him again, if he tells him now that there can’t be anything between them, for whatever reason… it will break his heart completely.

And then, before Keith can muster the courage to turn around and face what’s happening, Shiro seems to have made a decision. His warm, skin and bone hand comes to rest on Keith’s shoulder, tugging the slightest bit so Keith _does_ turn towards him, gritting his teeth slightly against the strain on his injury. Shiro’s eyes are shining with warmth and so much affection that Keith stops breathing, his heart skipping a beat at the sight. He’s still not breathing when Shiro’s metal hand comes up to cup his cheek, cradling it so gently that Keith automatically leans into the touch.

“I was an idiot,” Shiro finally says. “Back when you first told me about how you feel… I was too scared of admitting I felt the same. I didn’t… I didn’t want you to have to wait for me, in case something happened on Kerberos.” A self-deprecating chuckle. “When I was with the Galra, I only… I only wanted to see you again, to get back to you. And then when I did, we never had the time, not a single moment of peace between the Galra and Voltron and leaving Earth…” He searches Keith’s face as if he could find any answers there to questions he doesn’t ask. Another sigh. “So I thought it just wasn’t meant to be, that… I couldn’t hold you down like that, bound to a…” His eyes move over his bionic arm and Keith’s heart _aches_ because Shiro still considers himself a cripple, a broken man, not worthy of this.

“Shiro –,” he starts but Shiro shakes his head, corners of his mouth twitching upwards slightly.

“No, please – let me say this. I think I… I owe you this,” he pleads and Keith shuts his mouth although there are a million arguments burning on his tongue, how Shiro isn’t broken, how he’s still wonderful and perfect and strong and brave. Instead, he gives a terse nod and waits.

“I was an idiot,” Shiro repeats. “I told you we couldn’t and you accepted it. And I thought it was enough, that I could just…” A shake of his head, a long strand of white hair slipping out of the bun on the back of his head. “But when Zarkon attacked me and I thought I was going to die, I… I finally understood that I was wrong. It wasn’t enough. And then I woke up here and… When we found you, bleeding out and unconscious, it was a miracle. So I… swore to myself I’d tell you the truth, once and for all.”

“The truth…?”

“I love you,” Shiro says simply, honestly. “And I’m sorry I kept you waiting for so long. But I’m tired of denying myself what I… want. What I need. So… what’s your answer, Keith?”

Keith just stares at him for a long, long moment, trying to process this, the sheer amount of information, of intimate confessions. He can’t believe his ears, can’t believe that after all this time, Shiro is actually choosing him instead of _the right thing_.

“My _answer_?” Keith actually laughs, a slightly hysterical sound. “Shiro, how can you actually…” Once again, words fail him completely. So he does what he does best, letting actions speak for themselves, ignoring the twinge and ache of his injury and the way the staples pull at the wound’s edges, turning around as best as he can and slotting their mouths together in a clumsy, messy kiss. Shiro gasps into it but doesn’t waste a moment longer before he’s kissing him back, holding him so he doesn’t fall off the bed and injure himself even more. The position is uncomfortable and Keith’s acutely aware of the way the cool air of the room heats his overheated skin but he couldn’t care less, wouldn’t stop kissing Shiro for the world, not after he’s waited so long to hear that his feelings are actually reciprocated, that it’s alright to have these feelings in the first place.

But of course, it’s incredibly ill-advised to be moving too much while injured and Keith really should have known better, he figures later, when his body finally decides that he’s put enough strain on the injury. A sharp sting of pain, racing through his lower body where the cut runs right over his bellybutton, causing him to gasp with it, wincing into the kiss. Shiro breaks the kiss immediately, surging forward to catch him by the shoulders and check him over.

“Shit, I shouldn’t have…,” he mumbles, quickly helping Keith to lie down properly again.

“No, it’s not your fault…” Keith protests weakly, still squeezing his eyes shut against the pain and the way the flaming red wound edges are pulled at with every little movement. His insides cramp into a painful knot, breathing getting increasingly more difficult. He blindly grabs for Shiro’s arm, searching for support, for something to hold on to and ground him through the pain but Shiro is already reaching over into the med kit, taking out a small syringe.

“Hold still, this will help,” Shiro instructs and Keith bites his lip so he doesn’t moan and groan like a small child; he fucking hates needles but in this case, he guesses he’ll take one if it stops his stomach feeling like it’s being ripped open all over again. Shiro very carefully injects the greenish liquid into Keith’s veins, holding a pad of something like cotton to the tiny puncture wound, pressing down as hard as he dares so it doesn’t bruise.

Whatever is inside the syringe, he can feel it run through his bloodstream, icy cold and fresh, leaving a weird minty taste in his mouth. He’s not sure if that’s how it’s supposed to work but within a few minutes, the pain in his gut eases, his insides stop their cramping and the flaming fire inside the wound edges subsides. Keith exhales, a long, shaky breath, relaxing back into the pillow and closing his eyes. His body is still trembling from the aftershocks of the pain but he’s coming down slowly, instead starting to feel sluggish and sleepy.

A warm touch on his face makes him blink his eyes open again, looking right into Shiro’s, apologetic and concerned.

“Better?” he asks, voice but a whisper.

Keith nods slightly, giving him a small smile.

“Don’ worr..y,” he slurs, tongue not quite doing what it’s supposed to. The weird minty taste is still fresh inside his mouth and he’s not sure if he likes it. “’m fine.”

“Yeah…” Shiro looks faintly amused but Keith could also be imagining it. The mint is in his veins now, cold and soothing against the fiery heat of his blood. “You are.”

“… still need… the others…”

Shiro shakes his head.

“We can’t,” he says. “I’m sorry. I know you want to – and trust me, I do too. But if we do anything to anger these people, they won’t hesitate to eliminate the danger we pose. I’ve seen it happen. If we want to return to the others, we have to keep our heads down.”

“’m not… good with keepin’ down,” Keith mumbles. Shiro smiles, letting out a small, amused breath and reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from Keith’s forehead. The mint rises up to his brain now, tinting everything a weirdly soft color, just slightly off but still somehow wrong.

“That’s certainly true…” He presses a soft kiss to Keith’s brow, lips lingering for  a moment. “But just this once?”

“’ll try,” Keith sighs. It’s getting increasingly harder to keep his eyes open. The mint is all around him, wrapping him in cotton, dimming the fiery heat to a pleasant, soothing warmth. “… mint sucks…”

“What?”

But Keith is already drifting off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

When Shiro said that the rebels – because that’s where they are, on board a ship of the Rebel Alliance of which Matt Holt is a prominent member since they’ve rescued him from a Galra prison ship – would not hesitate to eliminate any danger posed to their organization, Keith imagined them to be cruel and horrible, much like the Galra. What he didn’t expect, was a wild assortment of aliens, both tall and lanky ones as well as some so small that they can probably fit inside his outstretched palm. There are some that look like fluffy, multicolored cats, except they’re outfitted with small bat wings on which they fly around people’s heads, some that look like dinosaurs, moving on four legs and with long necks, surprisingly fast for creatures so big.

Whatever Keith expected the Rebel Alliance to be like – this certainly isn’t it.

The first time he steps out of his room a few days after first waking up properly, leaning heavily on Shiro to try and stretch his legs outside the confines of his hospital room, Keith can’t help but stop and stare at the variety of aliens walking around the medical bay alone. Among all these aliens, he suddenly feels weirdly small and insignificant, him and Shiro just two tiny humans in a war that is so much bigger than them.

Matt hasn’t come to visit again and maybe, it’s for the best – Keith doesn’t think he’d be able to hold off punching him in the face, both for even thinking of throwing him to the rebels and for Pidge’s sake, in case she doesn’t get her hands on her damn brother after all. He wisely keeps those thought to himself, though, because he’s fairly sure Shiro would not approve of someone punching his best friend and former comrade in the face, no matter who it is.

“The Alliance is led by the Eanu,” Shiro tells him quietly while they slowly (Keith’s body is _not_ happy about being forced to move but he knows that he has to, that his muscles must be slowly eased back into physical activity lest he wants to remain bed-bound forever) make their way through the medbay. It’s strangely full, filled with injured creatures of all kinds, some of them wearing yellow bandages around their upper limbs, likely to mark them as medical personnel. They usher some of the other aliens around, small clusters of them holding down some of the particularly feisty patients. “They were the first to rise against the Galra. In secret, of course – but they did, slowly gathering allies and supplies. They’ve been fighting for over a hundred years now.”

“How come I got my own room?” Keith asks, looking around. The medbay is filled with patients but far from all of them seem to have their own quarters. Most are gathered in big wards with dozens of beds (or whatever the hell constitutes as beds for some of these life forms), nurses running two and fro between them. The hallway in which Keith’s room is in has about a half a dozen doors leading to smaller rooms which are very unlikely to house all the patients from the wards.

“Because they’re not equipped for humans,” Shiro replies. “The big wards are specialized in certain life forms. See there?” He nods towards a ward shielded off by a plastic-looking curtain. Behind the curtain, Keith can see some of the colorful cat-like creatures milling about, chittering away in a language of small growls and mewls. But they’re not alone – in fact, several other furry aliens are in there too, not just the yellow bands of the medics but also other patients. They’re all completely different from each other but the one thing they have in common is thick fur. “This one is for aliens native to cold planets. Their fur shields them against the ice which makes them unfit for medical aid provided from, say, creatures from desert areas.”

“So there aren’t enough humans here to warrant a whole ward,” Keith says slowly, understanding dawning on him. Shiro nods and helps him cross a hallway leading into what looks like a small garden, full of alien flora with benches in between on which some of the patients sit and talk quietly to others, often not even of the same species.

“You, Matt and me are the only ones here,” Shiro says finally, once they’re standing next to one of the empty benches. Keith carefully lowers himself onto it, exhaling a shaky breath as his stomach muscles protest slightly. But now that he’s not moving anymore, he can relax somewhat, not having to focus on staying upward for a prolonged time. After making sure he’s comfortable sitting on his own, Shiro sits down next to him.

“Pidge’s father…?”

His only reply is a shake of Shiro’s head. Keith looks down at his hands, thinking of Pidge and her sad, sad eyes and the iron will sparking behind that sadness, her silent strength hidden beneath too big glasses and messy hair and bright holo-screens illuminating her face.

“I’m sorry,” he says because that’s all he can think of and because he never saw more of Sam Holt than a passing glance in a hallway of the Garrison. But Shiro knew the man, was friends with him, trusted him; it can’t be easy knowing he’s lost someone dear to him, this time probably for sure. His fingers twitch as he makes a decision, slowly reaching out to take Shiro’s hand, twining their fingers together so he can offer at least some comfort. Shiro looks at their joined hands for a moment, then takes a small breath and asks,

“What is it you’re not telling me?”

“What?”

“You… you keep looking like you want to say something, like there’s something… I don’t know.” Shiro’s thumb traces a pattern over the back of Keith’s hand. “You know you can tell me everything. I won’t – get mad or anything.”

“I know,” Keith says quietly, eyes tracing the invisible pattern on his skin. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Shiro – it’s that he doesn’t want to hurt him. It’s taken ages to get to where they are, to be able to hold hands in the broad daylight, to be aware of each other’s feelings and be able to act on them. Telling him about Lance now… To be honest, Keith is terrified of Shiro’s reaction, terrified of losing this. Shiro is the most selfless person Keith knows, possibly even more selfless than Lance, always putting the needs of the many before his own, always squashing down his own human desires if it means he can protect and save others, if it means that others will be happy.

But Keith? Keith is not a selfless person. And he wants this, he wants Lance and he isn’t prepared to lose any of it because of some stupid notion of selflessness that will leave at least two of them unhappy somehow. So what is there that he can do? What can he do but be brutally honest with both himself and both of the men he loves?

So he takes a deep breath and starts talking because he owes it to all three of them.

 

* * *

 

“Found anything?”

Pidge visibly takes a deep breath before turning around to face Lance, her face serious and eyes murderous.

“Lance,” she says, slow and deliberate and oh, Lance already regrets asking. “I love you like a brother, you know I really do. But if I find anything, I will tell you. And unless I do so, it’s probably safe to assume that I haven’t found anything. Don’t you think?”

If Lance were a lesser man, he would probably never admit that he’s terrified of Pidge. But in all honesty, she terrifies him more than his own mother when he dares to badmouth her and that’s saying something because hell hath no fury like his mother on a war path.

“Sorry,” he apologizes meekly, quickly raising both hands to shield himself from any and all possibly wrath coming from their youngest paladin. “It’s just…”

“I know,” Pidge sighs, swiveling around again in her chair to look at the myriads of holo-screens in front of her. “But you coming in here every five minutes to ask isn’t _helping_. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Sorry buddy,” Hunk mumbles from where he’s sitting next to Pidge, his own calculations and notes strewn all around him while he tinkers with what looks like an antenna – for all Lance knows, it could be a sort of high-tech bomb, designed to send out small nanobots to go out and search the universe for their two missing friends. And that actually doesn’t sound bad now that Lance thinks of it. “But this isn’t like with eggs, you know? We can’t actually sit on top of our readings or the equipment to make them search faster. Though, that would be totally awesome and I’d volunteer for the sitting… damn, now I want fried eggs…” He looks wistful for a moment but then manages to shake himself out of the reverie of fried eggs to return to his tinkering, only to pause, stare at it and then look around as if he’s searching for something.

“On your left,” Pidge tells him without looking away from the screens, typing away at her keyboard so a long and complicated sequence of code appears on one of them. Hunk looks over to his left, lets out a small, happy hum and picks up a screwdriver from the console on his left.

Lance is both impressed and scared of their silent communication skills and resolves not to mess with either of them.

“Okay,” he says. “Then I’ll just… go.” Pidge simply grunts in affirmation but Hunk at least has the decency to look up from his work and give Lance a smile and really, that’s totally why Hunk is his best friend. But there really is nothing for him to do here on the Castle bridge except pester the resident science division which obviously isn’t giving him any results so he might as well go and do something else. But what?

The problem is that Lance, when alone, starts to think. He thinks and dwells and wonders and boy, is that not good for his sanity because it also means that he’s remembering – his friends and family back on Earth, the stupid desert lizard he found outside the Garrison and decided to keep as a pet… and of course, of _course_ Keith.

Forgetting the roar of the Lions – all five of them, shattering through his dreams and making the walls of the Castle tremble with their might – is impossible all by itself. But the hollow gasp and the blood on the floor of Black’s hangar, the purplish-white glow engulfing Keith’s body, the metal hand sticking out of Keith’s back? That’s the stuff of nightmares and hell, he’s had some nightmares since that night. Sometimes, he’ll turn around in bed after one of them, expecting to see Keith but of course there’s nothing there. There’s nothing there and it’s _his fault_ because he didn’t make good on his promise to protect his boyfriend, because he didn’t check on Keith, didn’t stay with him that night.

Lance stops where he’s standing in one of the Castle’s halls, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to calm down. He can’t have another breakdown, he _refuses_ to. It’s not helping anyone and he can hate himself all he wants after he’s found Keith – and preferably Shiro too because Keith won’t sit still and stop getting himself into trouble until all of them are safely back at the Castle. _Home_. He needs to find Keith and bring him home and he absolutely cannot have another breakdown until then.

So he breathes through it, wills the panic attack away, focusing on the way his nails cut into the palms of his flesh instead, letting the brief spikes of pain ground him in the here and now, deliberately filling his lungs with oxygen until he no longer feels like he’s suffocating. Only then does he let go of the wall he’s leaning against – and when did that happen? Hell, he needs to stop spacing out, it can’t be healthy. He’s still not sure where to go or what to do but the dizzying, overwhelming need to cry has passed for now and he’s glad for it.

By now, he really should be out of tears to cry even though his body is apparently valiantly trying to prove the opposite.

He starts walking again, not eager to be found by one of the others and worrying them again. His feet carry him through the hallways and corridors practically all by themselves since he’s not really paying attention to where he’s going and when he finally looks up again to take in his surroundings, he’s standing in Red’s hangar.

Huh.

The giant, robotic lion is sitting on her haunches as usual, eyes lighting up with life when he steps closer.

“Hey girl,” he greets, reaching out to brush his fingers against one of her paws. “You come here often?” The pickup line lacks his usual cheek but Red indulges him anyway, softly snorting with amusement somewhere in his mind. She leans down to him to nudge him with her nose like a mother cat with her kitten and he smiles despite himself.

“Just a big softie, aren’t you,” he hums, earning himself another snort. “Just like your owner.” Because no matter what, he still considers Keith the rightful Red Paladin and he probably always will, even if Red, Black and Blue have decided otherwise after Shiro disappeared.

Red nudges him some more but then seems to be content lying down so their eyes are roughly on the same level – roughly because even lying down, Red’s head is at least three times bigger than Lance but he still appreciates her sentiment. He reaches up again, this time to brush his fingertips over the very underside of her nose. She stares down at him and he swears her gaze has something imploring but he just doesn’t know what she wants from him.

“What is it?” He frowns, taking a step or two back to see her better. “Red, what’s going on?”

The gaze of her bright yellow eyes bores into his, her mind reaching out for his. It’s like he’s being hypnotized, staring straight into the golden specks of light that are Red’s eyes, suddenly feeling like the Castle is slowly disappearing all around him, like the universe itself is embracing him, blackness and stars and the pulse of life drumming between him and the Lion, gold and red and dust and water. A light, bright red and glimmering beautifully against the backdrop of the universe’s black expanse, catches his attention and he wants to reach out, to touch, to –

“Lance? Lance, are you alright?” A sudden touch on his shoulder pulls him out of the vision so suddenly that he’s reeling as the blackness and the stars shatter apart like glass and he finds himself back at the hangar, gasping for breath and doubling over from the intensity of it all and the way his brain seems to prickle with a thousand needles. Two hands steady him, smaller than his but still surprisingly strong so it’s not Pidge who also has small hands but lacks the upper body strength to hold him up like this.

“’llura,” he gasps, feeling weak and oddly jittery. “What…?”

“We called for you, several times,” Allura says, helping him sit down on the ground, back leaning against the solid metal of Red’s paws. “Didn’t you hear the comms?”

“No, I…” He blinks, shakes his head, a hand on his temple where that evil, insistent gnome is drilling away at his skull again. “I was… Quiznak, how long…?”

“I’ve been looking for you for at least half a dobash now,” Allura says. She’s crouched next to him, wearing a dress instead of the armor he last saw her training in on the fighting deck. “It’s time for dinner.”

“But that’s like, still two hours away,” Lance replies, brows furrowed. “I only just came in here!”

“Lance,” Allura says slowly, searching his face for any signs of head injury, no doubt. “Pidge and Hunk last saw you over three dobashes ago. You’ve been down here for quite a while now.”

“Huh…?” To say that Lance understands nothing is an understatement. He’s only just come down here before Red started doing her creepy mind-meld space thing with him, no way in hell so much time has passed! So what…?

“You were just standing there when I came in,” Allura says, still looking concerned. “Looking up at the Red Lion. You seemed to be in a trance, you didn’t react to my calling you at all. Are you feeling alright?”

“Bit dizzy,” he answers honestly, still rubbing at his temple and willing the stupid gnome inside his skull to go the fuck away. “I’ve no idea what happened but I think… I think Red was trying to tell me something.”

“Tell you what?” Allura’s eyes are wide, curiosity and concern fighting for dominance. She’s probably considering to stick him into one of the healing pods to check him over for brain damage right now, message from the Lions be damned. But she also trusts him, obviously, so she mercifully doesn’t call the others on him to carry him up to the medbay, instead waiting for his answer or at least an explanation.

Lance looks up to Red who is still in the same position with her head resting on the floor, watching him with that sharp, attentive gaze of hers.

“No idea,” he says. “Just – no idea…”


	8. Chapter 8

The probing gaze of the Red Lion accompanies Lance into his dreams, a disjointed glimmer of golden eyes against the wide expanse of the universe, Keith’s voice and a faint red light glinting somewhere in the distance while blood drips to the ground and somebody screams, screams, screams. He jolts awake every night because _he’s_ the one screaming, sometimes to find Hunk trying to calm him down but more often than not alone in his own bed because he can’t keep waking his best friend at night when said best friend is doing all he can to find his boyfriend.

“You really gotta stop doing that,” he huffs at Red from inside her cockpit, maneuvering her through an asteroid storm to shake off the three dozen Galra fighters on his tail. “I barely sleep anymore, do you actually _want_ me to crash you into something? Because trust me, it’s gonna happen if you don’t stop messing with my beauty sleep!”

Red just rumbles in return as they barrel roll through the giant rocks all around them, dipping in a nosedive to avoid a shot from behind.

“Blue never cost me any sleep,” Lance grumbles, swerving sharply to the left, neatly avoiding one of the asteroids while the closest fighter crashes into it in a massive and bright but silent explosion. Boy, Star Wars got it all wrong with those explosions in space! He’s so gonna write a letter of complaint to George Lucas for the next movie. “It’s like you and Keith just _live_ to give me a headache!”

Red’s reply is what would probably be an outstretched tongue on a human being but ultimately ends up being a vague feeling of indignant annoyance.

“You’re a dick,” he tells her honestly, aiming her upwards and into a somersault to position them behind some of the remaining Galra fighters, shooting two of them with his own lasers. “I hope you know that.”

“Stop insulting your Lion and focus on the enemy,” Allura’s voice admonishes him through the comms, her video feed blinking into existence on the upper right side of his dashboard screen. How she manages to look dazzling and beautiful in the middle of a space battle will forever be beyond him. “We have to take out that beacon!”

“Little busy here,” Lance replies, veering right to avoid getting hit by a barrage of laser shots, diving straight between two asteroids and avoiding being crushed by mere inches. “I can’t get closer, they’re all shooting at me!”

“I’m right behind you,” Pidge pipes up. “If you can just distract them a little longer, I can get to the asteroid with the beacon!”

“Not a fan of this plan but okay!” Lance calls back, braking hard enough to cause three more Galra fighters to fly straight into the oncoming asteroids. Sadly, he still has about three dozen behind him so there’s no time to celebrate just yet. “Hunk, cover her!”

“On it!” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Green and Yellow pulling ahead, the smaller lion weaving between the giant rocks with expert ease while the bigger one seems to simply barrel through them, blasting big holes into the bigger asteroids to just fly through them. Then, however, he has to divert his attention back to the diversion tactic on hand, pulling Red around with a grunt, hoping the Galra will follow him instead of the other two. Half of his pursuers seem to be content with doing just that but the other half ignores him for the sake of chasing after Pidge and Hunk.

“I couldn’t get them all!” he yells over the comms. “Allura!”

“I’m here!” A blast of blue ice shoots past him, successfully freezing another five fighters that are way too close for comfort. “On your left, Lance!”

“Thanks, _querida_ ,” he hums back, the adrenaline of the fight already pushing back all of his worries to the very back of his consciousness. Maybe that’s why Keith loves fighting so much, because it’s all about reflexes and reaction instead of thinking and worrying, never giving his anxiety the time to fight its way back to the surface of his consciousness. He ruthlessly squashes down the faint longing for Keith and focuses on the fight again, pressing down on the buttons that activate Red’s lasers and cutting a nice line of fire through his pursuers. He grins at the sight of the carnage, almost despite himself, mumbling a few choice words directed at the remaining Galra.

“Almost at the beacon,” Pidge notifies them, her focused face appearing right under Allura’s on his screen, Hunk’s following just a moment later. “But we’re looking at heavy fire, here. Some help?”

“We’ll be right there, Pidge.” Lance maneuvers Red around expertly, still somewhat grumbling under his breath. But for now, Red remains obedient and follows his directions as he and Allura take care of the remaining few fighters on his tails. He then leads them both back into the brunt of the asteroid field to where Pidge and Hunk are still trying to outfly their own purple problem.

They’ve been alerted to the beacon completely by accident – with still no clues where to look for Keith (and really, this is the problem with Shiro all over again, except now it’s even worse because Shiro wasn’t Lance’s boyfriend and he just _really fucking misses Keith okay?_ ), the Castle was floating mostly aimlessly around space when a broadcast from the Marmorites came in. A tiny beacon, set inside an asteroid field surrounding a small moon with an even smaller Galra outpost on it, ready to alert the Fleet at the slightest sign of a potential enemy – needless to say, they can’t risk fighting the entire Galra fleet at the moment, what with two Paladins missing. So that’s why they’re here, flying through a damn asteroid field to try and destroy the beacon before one of the much smaller, faster Galra fighters can reach and activate it.

“Just once,” Hunk sighs over the comms, “just once, I’d like to go to a nice place for fighting. A beach, maybe. Or an antique store.”

“An antique store?” Lance frowns.

“Yeah but only if they’re classy,” Hunk muses, an explosion from ahead signifying that he’s still busy shooting down Galra. Still frowning, Lance maneuvers Red around another asteroid, letting out a small yelp when he nearly crashes into Yellow who just comes crashing out of the asteroid to his left.

“I’ve got you, Hunk!” Allura comes flying in like a valkyrie – that is, if valkyries flew giant magic space robot cats – all heroism and grace, expertly blasting off the three Galra fighters stupid enough to follow Hunk through the hole he blew into the asteroid. “Lance, go help Pidge!”

Not needing to be told twice, he claps Red’s metaphorical spurs and off they shoot, a red lightning of energy and fire amid the black backdrop of the universe. It takes him no time at all to reach Pidge, her and Green surrounded by a small army of fighters.

“Took you long enough,” Pidge huffs.

“You’re welcome, _chica_.” He expertly takes out another fighter who’s way too close to the beacon for anyone’s comfort. “I’ll give you cover, take out that damn beacon so we can go home already!”

Pidge doesn’t answer but Green flies a beautiful somersault out of the circle of Galra fighters, causing two of them to crash into each other, accompanied by Pidge’s cackling, science goblin extraordinaire, so she has room to fly straight for the beacon. Lance can barely make it out between the giant floating rocks and all the shooting going on, just a tiny asteroid with a satellite dish nestled into one of its craters. He can see the silvery white gleam of it in the light of yet another explosion, cheering Pidge on loudly through the comms as she swoops closer while he’s taking care of the leftover fighters.

The beacon explodes soundlessly and in a spectacular array of colors, purples and reds and whites and yellows. Between the four of them, the Galra outpost on the tiny moon – even smaller than Earth’s moon – is blasted to smithereens too and they return to the Castle, Allura already ordering Coran to set up a line to the Marmorites so they can notify them that this particular quadrant is now free of Galra and no more messages can be sent out to the Fleet.

Lance allows himself to relax, the adrenaline of the fight still pumping through his veins but already mellowing out as he sinks deeper into his seat, letting Red pick her own way through the asteroid field, trusting her to bring him back safely.

“You’re still a dick,” he tells her, matter of factly. Red rumbles something back but he doesn’t quite catch it; it’s a weird feeling, somewhere between fond exasperation and plain annoyance and, well. To be fair, that is a feeling that Lance elicits quite often in people, so he doesn’t dwell too much on it, instead opting to stare out into space and the passing stars.

When he was a kid, Lance always dreamed about the stars. Not just because he grew up with movies like Star Wars and the Fifth Element but also because he’s always found them just so profoundly beautiful. Glinting up there, bright and eternal, they gave him hope when he was scared, spurned him on to become a pilot, to make his family proud. It’s probably cheesy to think so but Lance is pretty sure that it’s the same glint he saw in Keith’s eyes that time Keith confessed his feelings to him, the same glimmer of beauty and power and eternity.

But now? The same stars seem to be mocking him now, instead of giving him hope reminding him just how much space is between him and wherever Keith is, just how small and insignificant one tiny little human life is out here. What’s one human compared to the fate of the entire universe? Objectively, nothing, not even a speck of dust against the enormity of this whole war – and Lance is all too aware that in the grand scheme of things, it probably doesn’t even matter who’s going to be the Black Paladin if they never find Keith or Shiro. And maybe it really doesn’t matter – except it does, it fucking matters to _him_ because he fucking loves Keith and if this is how Pidge feels searching for her brother and father, then she’s even stronger than anyone gives her credit for because missing Keith? It hurts, it fucking hurts and now that he’s got no battle to distract him, all he can think about is the hole in his heart.

The stupid stars blur into fuzzy spots of light and it takes him a minute to realize that he’s tearing up. A soft curse under his breath, he furiously rubs at his traitorous eyes with the back of one hand and turns away from the window, instead turning his seat around to mutely stare at his feet.

Red prods his mind carefully, offering something like a mental pat on the head. He snorts through his tears – the silly cat really does care, huh?

“Love you too,” he says. “But you’re still a dick for not letting me sleep.”

In his mind, Red laughs at him.

 

* * *

 

That night, Lance dreams of Red’s eyes again, staring at him imploringly, her presence nudging his somewhere between dream and reality. He’s standing amid the stars, nebulas and black holes swirling all around him, surrounding him in a waltz of colors and energy and in the middle of it is Red, staring straight into his very being, the distant feeling of words brushing Lance’s mind but he can’t make them out, no matter how hard he tries.

“I don’t understand,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you want from me!”

Red doesn’t answer, she just seems to stare even harder and a part of him wants to just hide away somewhere so she stops looking at him.

“Stop it!” he demands breathlessly, taking a step back. “You have to stop, okay? I don’t understand you!!”

Red _stares_.

Lance stares back, angry and desperate and so exhausted that it seems like it’s a part of him, like the tiredness of his bones and body has seeped into his mind, into the very core of who he is.

For a minute – a second, an hour, an eternity, he doesn’t know, time isn’t real here, it could be just the blink of an eye or several millennia, just him and Red, caught into a staring contest – nothing happens. Then, a bright red light bursts into life at the very edge of his conscience and Lance can’t help himself, he whirls around to stare at it, the feeling of it so achingly familiar that he swears he can touch it if he just lifts his fingers. The red light paints everything, the entire universe, every star and planet and nebula and supernova and quasar, a pale pink, diaphanous and ethereal. It’s so breathtakingly beautiful that he actually sobs, tears running down his cheeks.

But the very instant that he tries to move his hand to try and touch this miraculous red glow at the far edge of the universe, the light blinks out of existence again, disappearing so suddenly that the universe seems bleak and dark in comparison, the light of the stars nothing but sad light bulbs in the eternal blackness.

“No!” he yells, trying to run but finding that he’s rooted in place, unable to even make a single step forward. “No, you have to…! Red, bring it back, please!”

He doesn’t know why the red light is so important, he just knows that he _needs_ to find it.

Red touches his core again, brushes against it ever so slightly and the word she’s whispering is just on the very tip of his tongue, he can feel it and taste it and –

A sharp sting of _something_ zings across his consciousness, Allura’s face against the black of the universe, Blue’s cool touch, oceans and rain and rivers and a whisper, distant and so very faint….

_Lance…_

“Blue?!”

 

* * *

 

He wakes up, drenched in sweat and cheeks still wet with tears, one hand outstretched towards the ceiling, mouth open in a shout. His throat is hoarse and he realizes that he must’ve been screaming a lot in his dream, tossing and turning if the messy state of his blanket and sheets is anything to go by. A bead of sweat is still running down his forehead, his breathing is heavy and his heart is beating a quick staccato rhythm against his ribs, almost painful in its intensity. And the weird feeling of Blue’s touch is still there.

“What the fuck,” he breathes as he sits up and runs a hand through his messy, sweaty hair. He’s wide awake now, like he’s been after every single one of these weird dreams that feature Red staring at him but the gleaming red light was new – he hasn’t seen it since that first time, back in the hangar, and even then it hadn’t been this intense. And what was that about Allura’s face, why did he feel Blue…?

Lance swings his legs out of the bed, resting his head in his hands for a few minutes, trying to calm down. Why is he so agitated? What is this weird feeling that just won’t let him go? Part of it feels like the familiar pull of Red’s call, the way she sometimes calls for him when she’s bored or lonely or just wants to tease him, as one apparently does as a magic sentient robot. But the other part…

“Blue…?” Lance whispers, more confused than ever. Why is Blue calling him? He’s not her Paladin anymore, she’s chosen Allura. Sure, she still lets him pet her and visit her but… It doesn’t make sense. None of it does and yet…

He gets up, almost like he’s sleepwalking, slightly wobbly on his feet as he mechanically puts on his shoes and wanders out of his room, down the hallways and corridors and into the hangars. It’s the middle of the night, probably still hours to go until breakfast, the Castle silent and dark, only his steps echoing around. He’d normally make a joke about horror movies but something stops him, some inner compass of propriety that he didn’t even know existed before this moment, telling him that this moment is too important, too significant to make any kind of joke. And so he walks until he reaches Blue’s hangar – lit so brightly that he squints against it, almost painful to his still not quite there mind.

When his eyes finally adjust to the change in brightness, he spots Allura’s tall, slim figure standing in front of Blue, staring up into the Lion’s eyes, boring into hers. Lance gasps because this picture is all too familiar and he has half a mind to take a step towards her, to wake her out of the weird, trancelike state their princess is in, but then Allura’s body starts glowing in a gentle, almost subtle blue light, the same light that Lance knows all too from his own experience – it’s the same blue light that Blue’s eyes glow when she’s reaching into his very being, the same blue that is her _essence_ , the way she touches you and makes you part of herself, one soul in two bodies.

So he stops dead and watches the strange scene, Allura and Blue, eyes locked and obviously connected mentally, the blue light connecting them both.

The light…

Lance blinks, suddenly remembering the red light that appeared in his dream. What if…?

He turns around, peering down the corridor that leads to Red’s hangar. A warm touch reaches out to his soul and he finds himself walking before he even makes the conscious decision to do so, jogging and then running as fast as he can to answer the Red Lion’s call. When he skids to a halt in front of her, she rumbles in his mind, satisfied that he understands – he’s not sure what he understands but there’s a connection between Blue and the blue light and Red and the red light, that much he knows. So maybe, maybe…

She stares at him and he stares back.

The hangar around him slowly fades out of view, out of reality, and suddenly, he’s back floating amidst the stars, surrounded by nebulas and stars, swirling and turning, whole galaxies painting the blackness. But he’s not alone, this time – he’s looking straight at Allura who’s right in front of him, eyes wide with surprise as she takes him in.

“Lance?” she asks, as if she’s not sure if she’s dreaming or not.

“So it’s happening to you, too?” he replies with his own question. She nods, blinks. Then, she says,

“I’m not sure what it means. It’s like the Lion is trying to tell me something but… it feels strange, as if she’s lacking the means, the words for it.”

“It’s the same for me!” Lance would grab her by the hands, probably, if he could move – except he can’t, his body feeling oddly numb and fuzzy. “Red’s not letting me sleep for weeks now and I just can’t… I don’t understand what she wants from me.”

Red, it seems, chooses this moment to try to communicate to him again. She appears right behind Allura, her glowing gaze boring into his own eyes once again, her mind suddenly so much sharper and more focused against his. He hears Allura gasp softly and just like that, he knows that Blue, too, has chosen to appear.

The soft, warm prod against his core is stronger now, more tangible, as if it has grown and became more alive, and oh, _oh_ he remembers this, remembers this exact feeling that’s suddenly coursing through him, weaving his own and Allura’s presence into a single one.

“The others,” they say at the same time, more connected to each other than ever before, not only through both being chosen by Blue but also through the unexplicable thing happening to them right now, understanding a clear and conscious thought.

They’re reaching out at the same moment, agreement unspoken and yet existing, reaching and reaching until they can feel the cool, inquisitive intelligence that is Pidge and the sunny, gentle kindness that is Hunk. Their answering calls are faint, weak but strengthening by the second, ticking away and growing until finally, Pidge and Hunk appear right next to them, minds connecting to theirs with a sudden clarity, brimming with life and energy.

Not a word more is spoken, nobody moves and yet, it feels like they’re holding hands, like they’ve all melted into a single being, so much like forming Voltron that it tugs at their heart, at their mind, the loss of one of their so acute and clear that it hurts them. Around them, the four Lions form a circle, each staring on, blue and red and green and yellow melting into one entity until another one awakens, a far-off presence, a purplish-black light glowing in their midst until the Black Lion flickers into view, scattered across the expanse of the universe.

A sharp, red light bursts into life at the edge of the universe, painting everything bright and fiery, a single point in the universe so clear in their mind that they see one, two faces with absolute clarity for a moment, eternal and yet already gone, the red light illuminating a single moon in the shadow of a planet.

Then, with a flash, it all disappears – the universe and the stars, the light and the Lions and Lance crashes back down to his own body, breathing so heavily that his lungs are screaming, brain dizzy with the overflow of oxygen but the information burning so brightly in his mind that he simply falls to his knees, too weak to stand any longer.

“Oh God,” he gasps, “I know where they are.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, with season 4 out this fic has officially gone AU. Also, seeing the real Matt in the show makes me feel guilty for the way I've written him here but eh, that's how it is now. I swear, he's got his reasons.  
> Anyway, thank you all for staying with me, I'll try to update faster next time!

Shiro is silent once Keith finishes. He doesn’t look upset or anything, face unreadable as it often is when he’s thinking, not giving away even a single emotion. Maybe it’s the result of the torture and interrogation inflicted on him by the Galra but he’s been like that ever since his return, causing Keith to sharply, vehemently miss the bright and goofy Shiro he knew at the Garrison. He still sees the laugh lines in Shiro’s face, edged into his skin and stubbornly refusing to leave it despite the practically constant worry written across it by now, can still see the twinkle of mischief in these grey eyes even though it’s almost eclipsed by the sobriety in his gaze nowadays. Before the Galra, before Kerberos, Shiro used to be so expressive, so much easier to read and Keith doesn’t know what to expect and he _hates_ not knowing what to expect. It makes his skin itch and he feels all jumpy, out of his depth.

Eventually, what feels like an eternity later, Shiro takes a deep breath and finally raises his eyes to Keith’s face.

“Do you love Lance?” he asks, quiet and calm. It just sounds like he’s making sure, like he’s trying to get all the information. And Keith, because he’s never really been able to lie to Shiro, especially to his face, simply nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Shiro nods.

“Alright…” There’s a far-off look on his face and a sort of faint, almost sad smile. He takes another breath, like he’s about to add something else but Keith makes a grab for his hand before he can say something, blurting,

“No, don’t do this.”

“Do what?” Shiro looks honestly puzzled.

“You – you’re gonna decide that everyone else’s feelings are more important than yours!” Keith shouts, causing several of the other patients to throw him dirty looks, some others hissing to keep his voice down. Keith just barely holds off from growling back, instead lowering his voice to an angry hiss. “You always do this! You keep putting others before yourself and – and then you just suffer in silence like some stupid martyr!”

Shiro – just sort of stops. He looks at Keith like nobody has ever told him to take care of himself before, eyes wide and mouth dropping open in a soundless gasp before it ever so slowly morphs into a small, ever so soft smile, his eyes now crinkling with the warmth of it. He looks so ridiculously fond that Keith actually blushes slightly, feeling awkward and self-conscious.

“Alright,” Shiro repeats, still smiling. “Then we’ll talk about it.”

“We – we will?”

“Yes.” Shiro looks down at where Keith is still holding on to his hand, sliding their fingers together. “But Lance also has a say in it, doesn’t he? So… we’ll talk about it. All three of us. That alright with you?”

Keith squints at him, suspicious. But Shiro looks so earnest as if just this once, he has decided to try and be happy himself, to make sure that he doesn’t give in immediately, won’t end up as the martyr from the get-go because he didn’t even give himself a chance. Maybe it’s because Shiro is just as tired of this dance as Keith is – maybe it’s because he’s trying to get better, to overcome the trauma.

Whatever it is, Keith has always been unable to really say no to Shiro.

“Yeah,” he replies, throat suddenly tight with something he can’t really describe, a weird mix of affection and sadness and fear. “It is.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t see much of the rebel ship at first; still somewhat weak on his feet, Keith is confined to the medbay until one of the medical personnel actually finds something agreeable with his biology to help accelerate the wound healing, a foul tasting concoction made out of some plant that stinks just as badly as it tastes and makes him feel woozy but after a few days, the flaming red of his wound finally starts to soften down to a deep pink, just a few shades darker than the rest of his skin.

“They’re all staring at me,” Keith hisses after another of those particularly fun experiences, leaning against Shiro as they’re passing through the medbay. The aliens all around them are sneaking glances at them or, even worse, abruptly changing their paths when they see him and Shiro approach.

“They don’t see many humans here and, well… you _did_ crash right into a Leaders’ Meeting when you appeared, I guess word has gotten out…”

“Wait, what?” Keith stares up at Shiro. “You didn’t tell me that part.”

“It – wasn’t pretty,” Shiro says after a moment of hesitation. “You were bleeding all over and unconscious and for a moment… They thought it was an attack. Matt vouched for you but these people are suspicious at best and paranoid at worst. Though of course, they have every reason to be.”

Keith glances at another cluster of aliens who muster him, eyes burning with suspicion, and sighs. Great; he’s just gotten over his anxiety about being half-Galra, has just accepted that part of himself – and now he’s smack in the middle of more creatures that will hate him on principle for something he cannot change if they ever get wind of his heritage. It must be written all over his face because Shiro squeezes him softly and whispers,

“Don’t worry. No one will know.”

Keith nods but doesn’t say anything; all words are stuck in his throat. So he simply lets Shiro guide him through the rest of the medbay until they leave it behind, stepping into a huge atrium. Keith’s mouth drops open at the sheer _size_ of it, easily big enough to fit the entire Castle of Lions, with pathways and bridges and arches crisscrossing the space so that every part of the ship is connected, easily reachable in case of emergency. Hundreds of different life forms are milling about, hurrying to and fro, some wearing bands of different colors to maybe signify rank or position and all of them incredibly busy, it seems.

“What – what’s going on?” Keith breathes, still unable to look away.

“The Leaders have called a meeting,” Shiro replies quietly, gently pulling Keith out of the way of an alien vaguely reminding him of an elephant, carrying at least three other aliens on its back. “For the entire Alliance. I thought you’d like to see them, to hear for yourself.”

“What’s it about?”

“Nobody knows.” Shiro shakes his head. “That’s why everyone’s gathering.”

There doesn’t seem to be a room big enough to host all the aliens so they crowd the hallways and pathways and bridges of the atrium, a sea of faces and the ebb and flow of murmurs, rising like waves. Keith and Shiro manage to secure a place on one of the bridges, leaning against the railing and looking down at a big platform in the middle of the atrium, a circle made of plush seats in which several aliens sit.

“Matt’s down there too,” Shiro says, almost yelling into Keith’s ear to make himself heard over the noise. He points to one of the seats where, next to a particularly furry creature that looks like a pair of giant ears with limbs, Keith can make out the unmistakable ginger mop of hair belonging to Matt Holt. “Look!”

“He’s one of the Leaders?”

“Yeah, he was promoted after he saved one of the other Leaders,” Shiro nods. “First and only human to join the Alliance. It’s probably why they’re looking so closely at us – either we prove ourselves just as trustworthy as he did or we don’t.”

Keith doesn’t bother asking what happens if they don’t prove themselves; Matt’s reaction to Keith’s freakout after waking up says enough. Chewing on his lower lip, he leans over to Shiro to ask,

“What about the other Leaders? Who are they?”

“Generals and war lords from the races who joined the Alliance,” Shiro answers. “Some, like Matt, were simply soldiers who showed exceptional skills or bravery. And some have been fighting the Galra for generations… like the Eanu.”

Keith opens his mouth to ask more but in that moment, the platform below them begins to rise, higher and higher until it’s situated far up enough so that even those on the highest bridges and pathways can see and, more importantly, hear. All around them, the noise dies down immediately. The silence that fills the atrium now is so thick and full of awe and expectations that you can probably cut right through it.

“My friends!” One of the aliens on the platform rises, a tall and skinny creature with long limbs and skin the color of moss, clad in a tunic of sorts and glancing around the atrium with huge, luminous eyes. Their voice is soft and slightly raspy and yet easily carries across the entire hall, reaching even those who weren’t able to secure a good spot. “For thousands of years, we have fought the Galra threat. Some of us have lost their planets whole millennia ago, our children never even having seen their home worlds. We have fought and we have died and yet we stand, united against the enemy, one voice raised against the injustice that has befallen our universe!”

The crowd cheers; this type of speech must be a common thing to raise morale, Keith figures. And it seems to work, too – the aliens standing around him and Shiro definitely stand taller, look prouder.

“That’s Qrahr,” Shiro whispers. “She’s the High General of the Alliance – granddaughter of the one who founded it in the first place.”

“But that was thousands of years ago,” Keith hisses back in disbelief. Shiro doesn’t have the time to answer because the green alien – Qrahr – speaks again.

“Again and again, the Galra have thwarted our plans, beaten back our attacks, killed our warriors – and yet, the flames of our strength and our lives burn strong! And now, we have received important intelligence; intelligence that could be our key to a future without the Galra!”

All around them, the crowd erupts in yells and shouts and questions, the noise so deafening that Keith actually winces; he might only be _half_ Galra but fuck, his ears are entirely too sensitive for this level of noise and he hides his face against Shiro’s arm, grateful for the arm that instantly wraps around his waist. Too many people, too loud, everything way too much and he just wants to go back to the small, quiet room in the medbay.

But hiding’s out of the question.

Qrahr speaks of vital information regarding the supply routes of Quintessence, of how the Galra are harvesting planets just for that, of how destroying these supplies will put an end to the Galra Empire. And Keith wants so badly to believe in that, wants to trust in these people to be able to defeat the Galra but… But. It’s not that he’s a pessimist per se – Keith likes to think that he’s a realist or even a well-informed optimist. Sure, he’s hoping for the best but he sure as hell knows that plans never work out the way they should, he’s got enough first-hand experience in that area, and he also knows that there’s a goddamn _reason_ the Galra want to get their greedy hands on Voltron so badly. He knows and he can’t let these people – fighters, like him, giving their everything for a better world, for a chance – die in vain because that’s what will happen if they attack the Galra. No matter how good the intel is, no matter how brave these rebels are and no matter how sound their planning is; things will go to shit because that’s what always happens.

And Keith, well.

He’s never been the best at keeping his mouth shut… or thinking before acting.

“You can’t attack the Galra on your own!” His voice is so startlingly loud in the atrium that for a moment, he is shocked himself. But he’s already barreling on, his voice carrying out into the shocked silence of the Alliance, lips moving before he’s even had the chance to realize that maybe, _maybe_ this isn’t the best course of action. “It doesn’t matter how prepared you think you are – the Galra aren’t idiots, they probably already know their supply routes got leaked! Attacking them on your own means certain death for all of you – you _need_ Voltron, it’s the only weapon you have against the Galra! You can’t sit here and hide, you have to _call for help_!! I know they would help, I promise they wouldn’t-“

He stops when he realizes that all the Leaders are looking straight at him.

For a single, endless moment, nothing happens. Everyone’s staring at him, expressions ranging from disgust to shock to disbelief but Keith doesn’t see any of them, is looking straight into Qrahr’s eyes, willing her to understand, to believe, to trust him. The silence is so loud that his ears are ringing with it, tension running so high that his body feels like it’s being electrified, chest heaving. There’s no room to think, no room to doubt and then it’s already too late because the entire atrium erupts into even more noise with cries of outrage and Shiro’s desperate attempts to shield him from several aliens trying to grab him and Keith – Keith is still staring at Qrahr.

The High General is looking up at him, eyes narrowed to slits that look like the fine line of light under a closed door at night. She says something, he can see her lips move but no sound reaches his ears, deafened by the roar of the enraged crowd. He can hear Shiro scream for him over the noise but it’s soon swallowed up by yells and shouts, of orders to catch him and bring him to the Leaders.

The anger that he should be feeling over the stupidity, over the willful blindness in light of the truth comes slowly but when it hits him, it’s like a tidal wave, washing away every other feeling and thought and then he’s snarling, fighting against the hands and claws and other appendages holding him and dragging him along, yelling and growling and hissing himself, like a wild animal, injury forgotten and drowned out by the sheer helpless rage coursing through his veins.

The last thing he sees of Shiro before he’s swallowed up by the crowd is Shiro’s outstretched hand, reaching out for him but already too far away to.

While the brass – or whatever the hell counts as the brass here, aliens with superior clearance or higher ranks – try and contain the crowd, Keith is unceremoniously handed over to a group of big, burly aliens who seem to consist of hard muscle under dark skin, vaguely reminding him of maybe dinosaurs or plucked chickens. By the way they poke and prod him with sticks, the ends humming with electricity and zapping his flesh, burning through the shirt here and there, to stop him from fighting back, he guesses that they’re some kind of orderlies, a military police or something. They drag him down hallways and deeper into the ship that, which Keith realizes only now when he sees more of it through the haze of anger and the sharp sting of pain where he’s been poked with the tazers, is actually no ship at all; it’s a space station.

And he’s being brought straight to the dungeons.

They throw him – and quite literally, he hits the opposite wall with the force of it, head thudding with the force of the impact – into a cell and the second they step outside, the barred walls of it come alive with the hum of electricity, thin spidery forks of lightning zipping between the bars and stopping him from touching them. He can hear the aliens yell something at him but his head is still ringing from being thrown against a fucking wall and he doesn’t understand a single word they’re yelling at him. And then, because apparently electricity isn’t deemed enough to hold him captive, a bubble of _something_ rises around the entire cell and for a horrible second, Keith actually thinks he’s gone deaf because all sounds – the guards’ voices and even the electric hum – disappear into thin air, like someone has just muted a video feed. Except this is real and he can’t fucking _hear_ and they _put him into a soundproof room_ so that the only thing he hears is his own labored breathing and the rush of blood in his ears, so very loud, the _thud thud thud_ of his quickened heartbeat like a drum.

Outside the bubble, looking so much just like a regular bubble made of gum or maybe even soap, never thick enough to block out all sounds the way it does, he sees the guards move their mouths, exchanging words and gestures and looks but he can’t hear a single thing. They look at him like he’s nothing more but dirt, a disgusting thing that doesn’t even deserve being _looked at_ before they turn around and leave, leaving Keith behind inside the bubble, surrounded by electricity and bars and about two dozens of identical cells, housing many different life forms, some slumped against the single wall and some looking like they’re screaming their lungs out, trying to make themselves heard.

Now, that the anger gives way to confusion followed by realization in quick succession, Keith stares numbly at the soundproof bubble, at the bars keeping him inside the cell. He can’t believe what just happened and yet, it’s exactly like Shiro said – these people have no space left in their minds or hearts for understanding or trust, never having known anything but themselves and their endless fight against the Galra threat. And now he’s gone and told them that they can’t win and have to trust others, give away their location to an unknown party, one that has been nothing more but legend for ten thousand years.

He wants to scream and rage and yell but it’s futile; knowing full well that nobody will hear him, Keith does the only thing he can: he leans against the wall, sliding down until he’s sitting with his knees drawn close and his head hung.

He’s fucked up.

 

* * *

 

 

“You have to do something about this,” Shiro insists, trying to keep his worry at bay. His voice almost cracks at the end but he keeps it in check just barely – he can’t afford to lose it now, has to keep a cool head if he ever wants to get Keith out of here.

“I told you, I _can’t_ ,” Matt huffs back, still pacing back and forth. He hasn’t stopped pacing since they’ve entered his room and all Shiro can do is lean against the wall next to the door and keep his arms crossed over his chest so he doesn’t reach out and do something he will probably regret like yell at the one person he trusts to help him. “I warned him! And now he’s got himself in trouble anyway, I knew I shouldn’t have let you take him to that meeting…”

“You can’t just punish people for speaking their mind,” Shiro argues. He’s tired, so horribly tired of all of this. Every time something bad happens, he swears to himself that he’ll take a long vacation and sleep for a week but it looks like the universe has sworn a personal vendetta against him because _the bad things just don’t stop happening_.

“He wasn’t just speaking his mind!” Matt finally stops pacing and instead levels an angry gaze at Shiro. “He was spouting nonsense to these people! Voltron is just a myth to them! Something that existed Thousands of years ago and has no meaning anymore besides giving hope to a bunch of children – children that were killed by Galra!”

“That doesn’t mean you had to-“

“Yes it did!” Matt is breathing heavily, brows furrowed and anger bright in his eyes, so much like Pidge and yet not. “If there’s dissent in the ranks, if these people start to doubt – do you know what happens? Civil war! This alliance is fragile and if even one person starts doubting…” He shakes his head. “I can’t let that happen. I owe my _life_ to these people! I swore to help them and I can’t… I can’t risk anything happening to them!”

Shiro stares at him, speechless for a moment. A part of his mind – the one that loves justice, the one that understands owing his life to people and being loyal – wants to calm Matt down, to tell him that he understands but the far bigger part of him is desperate and angry and just wants to get away from this place that forbids people from voicing doubts and locks them up. He feels powerless, his mind unhelpfully providing him with images of all the times he’s failed to protect those important to him – Kerberos, the damn Galra arena, Sendak…

“I – I owe _my_ life to Keith and the others,” he says, his own voice scratchy and somewhat hollow as he pushes the mental images away with sheer force of will. “They’re family at this point, Matt. And they’re all I have – so please. Don’t make me choose between them and you… because this choice won’t go in your favor.”

They look at each other, loyalty pitched against loyalty, their friendship tested in the cruelest of ways. A friendship should never be tested like that, two friends on opposite sides, hearts and minds belonging to different causes. But it _is_ because the universe never did anyone a favor and there are things that simply aren’t meant to be.

Silence stretches between them, tension thick enough to be cut with a knife, one of them forced to give. Once upon a time, before Kerberos, Shiro might have tried to find a solution that satisfies everyone, might have agonized over the decision and the consequences. But now? There isn’t even a choice, if he’s honest with himself. He’s so, so tired of making the correct choice, of giving away little pieces of himself until there’s nothing left.

And just this once, he doesn’t want to do what’s right.

He’s going to follow his heart and there is no give for that.

“Fine,” Matt spits, finally, defeat bright in his eyes. “… I’ll help.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst to come. BUT! I have good news, there's one more intense chapter to come and then we can finally move on to reunions and some fluff because boy, do we all need it.  
> Also, writing Space Dad is hard.

The tension leaves him like air blowing out of a pricked balloon, so suddenly that he actually feels a little weak with it.

“Thank you,” he breathes but Matt scoffs, turning away.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “There are still a million ways this could go wrong. I’ll… I’ll think of something.”

“I need to get Keith out of that cell,” Shiro says, shaking his head. “I can’t-“

“No,” Matt interrupts, running a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than it already is. “You can’t do that, not yet. I’lll… I’ll get the two of you out of here during the raid on the supply routes.” He starts pacing again, mind already working at its usual speed of light that is living proof for his being related to Pidge who is probably the smartest human being Shiro has ever met. “With a skeleton crew, it will be easiest to get you two off the station.”

Shiro, having enough of the pacing because it’s making his own nervousness skyrocket, grabs Matt’s arm and stops him.

“Wait, two? Aren’t you… aren’t you coming with us?”

Matt isn’t looking at him.

“No.”

“Matt – they’ll suspect it was you who helped us escape.”

“I’m not done here yet,” Matt grits out. “I can’t… I _owe_ Qrahr. The only reason I’m helping you is because we’ve been friends for ages.”

“Katie will-“

“ _Don’t_ ,” Matt hisses, whirling around, eyes burning with a fire, “bring Katie into this!”

“She’s already in!” Shiro refuses to look away, refuses to back down on this. “Us disappearing, that’s what brought her into all of this in the first place! If you could only see her – she’s not sleeping, she barely eats! All she does is trying to find you!”

Once again, they stare at each other, unwilling to back down. Shiro doesn’t know what’s going on in Matt’s head but all he can think about is Pidge and her sad eyes, the way she snuck into the Garrison and left everything behind just to find her family. He thinks about the way their ragtag team has come together, how they’ve become a true team and, more importantly, a family because all they have out here is each other.

“Just – not now,” Matt says, shoulders drooping and all fight leaving him. He looks decades older and about as tired as Shiro feels. “I need to think.”

“… Alright.” Shiro lets go of Matt’s arm, sighing. His head hurts.

Once again, silence stretches between them.

“Try and keep your head down,” Matt says, finally. “The raid is happening in a few days, until then, I’ll… I’ll think of something.”

Shiro just nods and backs off, running a hand through his hair. He needs a shower and, quite possibly, a hug but only one of those is going to happen anytime soon considering that he can’t exactly ask anyone to hug him since the only person he wants to do just that is currently incarcerated. So he leaves Matt to think and walks, walks, walks until he finds himself back at the room the rebels gave to Keith.

It’s small and stuffy and makes him miss Keith even more than before, a sharp ache in his heart that makes him drop down on the bed and hide his face behind his hands. The cool material of his bionic hand is a welcome relief on his overheated skin and he rubs his right palm over his face, sighing deeply.

He shouldn’t have brought Keith to the meeting. Knowing full well that Keith has a temper like a volcano, he still brought him and it’s on him that Keith got taken away. Matt’s warned him, several times, that the rebels won’t understand, that speaking up is dangerous. And yet…

He’s not even sure why he didn’t expect this exact thing to happen. Keith can’t keep calm in the best of situations, has authority issues a mile wide and never knows when to stay quiet; he should have known better. He’s supposed to be the leader, the highest-ranking officer, the one knowing what to do and how to keep his people safe, how to keep these things from happening at all. He should have known, should have stopped it from happening, should have…

The spiral of self-deprecation and worry is threatening to choke him. With pure force of will, he wrenches himself away from these thoughts, building up a wall to separate his mind from the spiraling blackness. If he gives in, he won’t be any good to anyone and he _needs_ to get himself under control if he wants to get Keith out and back to the others. Taking a deep breath, he starts counting back from hundred, one number per breath, focusing on breathing and counting and desperately _not_ thinking about anything that’s lead to this situation.

When he feels more or less like Takashi Shirogane again and less like the wreck of a human being that’s been falling apart in his boyfriend’s room (is he allowed to even use that word yet, they haven’t decided on anything, there is still that talk with Lance coming up when they make it back) for the past hour, he takes another deep breath and gets up. Enough of this, there’s no time for it. He needs to pull himself together and get things done so whatever plan Matt comes up with will work.

Keith is counting on him.

 

* * *

 

To say that the Rebel Alliance is a flurry of activity after the Leaders’ Meeting is an understatement. In the time Shiro has spent on the station, it’s always been like the inside of a bee hive, busy and choke full of people. Now, however, it’s even worse, more like a hornet’s nest that’s been poked and prodded until all the hornets are nothing but an angry buzzing, preparing to kill.

He tries to stay out of sight as best as he can, only occasionally meeting with Matt who is just as much of a criminal mastermind as his sister. Part of him is relieved he’s never been on the receiving end of their scheming, the rest of him simply hopes that they’ll get out of this safe and sound so the Holt siblings can be reunited to do their planning in peace, away from danger.

The rebels are tense, under pressure; for a lot of them, the war against the Galra is all they know. If this raid works out, it might mean the end of the Galra Empire – except Shiro has a feeling that Keith was right. He remembers their own attack on the Galra base, remembers the meticulous planning and the grim self-confidence the Blade of Marmora brought, remembers yelling at Slav and helping with repairs on the Teludav, remembers looking at the sunset with the others, so full of hope and determination and the certainty that it would be the last battle.

He remembers the horror of facing Zarkon, the battle and the fear and facing the Galra emperor on that surreal plane of existence, somewhere between reality and dreams. He remembers the exhilaration of winning the bayard from Zarkon, of Black intervening to save him. He remembers Keith relating what happened after his disappearance, about the clone and Lotor and so much more.

Plans are nice, they keep people from making mistakes and lay the foundation for history and legends. But the problem with plans is, as Shiro has learned way too many times in his life already, that they’re not guaranteed to work, that no matter how painstakingly you’ve accounted for every possibility, there’s always going to be the one outcome that you haven’t thought of.

It’s why he can’t help but be anxious, despite the well-thought out plan Matt presents to him. When the majority of the rebel army leaves the station, Matt and Shiro will sneak down to the cellblocks and free Keith. They’ll steal a ship, make sure that nobody is following them and… go find the others while Matt will stay behind to cover them.

Shiro desperately tries not to think of the million ways all of this can go wrong.

Avoiding the rest of the rebels is easy enough, considering the fact that they don’t seem to be very eager to talk to him anyway. The distrust the aliens have for humans has gotten only worse since Keith spoke up during the Meeting, tension running high with the upcoming raid. From the whispers and murmurs passing between the rebels, he gathers that they supply routes for the Empire are close-by. The plan is to attack one of the main routes with half of the Alliance, blocking off the others while beating off the Galra reinforcements. The other half of the rebels will stay back, attacking from the flanks once the Galra army has arrived.

He’s also trying not to think of the million ways _this_ can go wrong.

Needless to say, he’s not very good at it.

 

* * *

 

 “Will this really work?” Lance isn’t proud of it but he’s hovering. Absolutely, completely and totally hovering like his _abuelita_ whenever one of his younger siblings is sick and if she ever learns about this, he’ll never live it down. But he also can’t _stop_ because they don’t even have coordinates, just a vague direction, and they’ll have to make several jumps in a row which could wear both the Teludav lenses and Allura out and…

“ _Lance_ …” Pidge’s voice has that undertone again, like she’s very close to strangling him. But he can’t help it, he’s anxious and he wants to get Keith but he also doesn’t want to endanger any of the others if the damn Castle falls apart halfway through the universe.

“I _know_ ,” he whines, letting Hunk pull him aside and hug him to keep him in place and from bothering Pidge. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“Pidge, set the coordinates.”

Lance glances back over Hunk’s shoulder and catches a glimpse of Allura, ever so regal and determined in her Paladin armor, the pink highlights glinting in the lights of the command center. She’s the picture of royal grace and strength, hair in a tight bun and face edged with concentration, looking out over the bridge.

“Copy that, Princess,” Pidge replies, the reflection of her glasses hiding the expression in her eyes but Lance has a feeling that she’s just as tense as he is. As all of them are, this close to finding their two missing members, to being reunited with those stolen from them.

Lance hasn’t slept the entire night, nearly vibrating out of his skin. The prospect of being able to see Keith again, it’s… it’s almost too much. Add to that the possibility of getting Shiro back, too… Yeah, Lance is a mess and then some.

He looks around the command center, feeling spectacularly useless pressed against Hunk as he is, with everyone else at least doing their thing to prepare the wormhole jump. But Lance himself can’t really do anything here, he’s just a pilot and, well, a sharpshooter. Not to mention that he’s positively sick with nerves, here, so even if he could work with technology the way Hunk and Pidge do, he’d probably just puke all over it.

“Teludav lenses at full power!” Coran announces from his work station, flitting here and there. “Wormhole initializing!”

The flash of light as the Castle speeds up, jumping straight through the wormhole, is blinding in its intensity – but it isn’t the only one, followed by several more jumps. It’s the first time they’ve tried something like this but with the distance, it’s the safest way according to Allura. Otherwise, they could end up inside a planet or worse, inside a sun and that’s not exactly something either of them would like to experience.

With Hunk busy and concentrating on his task of making sure that the instruments don’t go off the charts, Lance carefully extricates himself from his best friend’s hug and slinks to the side, squinting against the bright light of every new jump. He keeps his eyes firmly on the next wormhole, on the next tunnel of light and stars and time and space, on the distance crossed, bringing them ever closer to Keith and, hopefully, Shiro too. He’s acutely aware of the trembling in his limbs, of the fine tremors that keep his fingers shaking, clenching and unclenching into fists, nervousness coursing through his veins like the strongest of drugs.

Only a faint noise behind him, what feels like hours later, tears him away from the sight of the universe zipping past but it’s definitely enough to make him gasp in shock. It’s Allura, fallen to her knees, looking pale and worn out, breathing hard and clutching one of the consoles for the wormhole with both hands, as if it’s the only lifeline keeping her conscious.

“Allura!”

He’s not the only one to call her name. As one, they all leap to her side, Coran cradling her against his chest like the surrogate father he is for all of them, Lance wiping some sticky strands of hair off her sweaty forehead.

“I’m – I’m alright,” she insists but her voice, faint and weak, belies her words. “All those wormholes, they just…”

“The amount of energy you had to use for all those jumps is reaching critical levels,” Pidge interrupts, glasses glinting in the dozens of lights of the command center. Coran, already nervous to boot about subjecting his princess to such danger, looks alarmed, hugging Allura a bit tighter.

“Princess,” he says, voice urgent, “you must be more careful! We cannot afford to lose you!”

“I will be alright,” Allura repeats, already pushing away from Coran and taking a deep breath. She lifts a hand to tuck one of the wayward strands of silver-white hair back into the bun at the back of her neck before she pulls herself up with help of the console she’s still holding on to with one hand, a little wobbly on her feet but more than determined. Her eyes, still somewhat unfocused, finally land on the star map still blinking on the main dashboard, the holograph casting her face into a ghostly blue light.

“It’s only one more jump,” she says. “One more… I can do this.”

“Allura…”

Lance only realizes that he’s spoken aloud when she turns to him, violet eyes blazing with something like anger, the just reaction to being underestimated – except that’s not at all what he’s doing here. He’s so damn impressed with her strength and her resolve but entirely unable to put it into words so he just smiles at her, nodding slightly.

“You can do it,” he says eventually and she rewards him with a brilliant if tired smile, gratitude shining in her eyes like stars at night, coloring her even more beautiful, even more unearthly and ethereal, every bit the alien princess of a lost people, burned out like stars so many thousand years ago and yet here she stands, bright and determined.

Lance might be a tiny bit in love with her in that moment.

They return to their posts, albeit some of them reluctantly, to make the final jump. The Castle Ship heads for the last wormhole, approaching it with full thrusters, head-on, diving into the swirl of time and space, folding and unfolding around them until it spits them out in a whole other part of the universe – facing a bright red planet that’s being orbited by several small moons. One of them is surrounded by small, purple dots and if Lance didn’t know better, he’d say it’s…

“Galra?!” Hunk nearly falls out of his chair as he leans forward to check the readings on his console. “What the quiznak?”

“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Allura says into the horrified silence, breathing hard. “We definitely found them.”

And why, _oh why_ is Lance not in the least surprised that his boyfriend seems to be smack in the middle of another goddamn battle….?

 

* * *

 

 

There’s another Meeting right before the rebels swarm out to the docks, manning their ships, ready to go out and disrupt the supply lines for the Galra Empire, maybe even acquire some of the quintessence the Galra greedily hoard, collecting it from planets like a perverse nightmare version of bees gathering nectar from flowers.

Shiro glances at Matt, tense and pale in the face of the treachery he’s about to commit, watching the last of the rebels scurry off towards the docks. Only when the station is left with a skeleton crew, only the injured back in the medbay and some guards to look over everyone’s wellbeing until the main force returns, does Matt move, swift and undetected, a specter of a man, moving along the shadows and deserted hallways with Shiro close on his heels, narrowly avoiding the patrols. Between the two of them, they easily knock out the two aliens standing guard in front of the prison block Keith has been brought to and enter the dark, eerily silent place.

For a moment, Shiro wonders why it’s so quiet in here, their steps the only thing echoing across the hall even though almost every cell in here is occupied; but then he notices the shimmering barriers around each and every cell, notices some of the prisoners seemingly screaming their heads off, the way some of them seem to talk to themselves, no sound leaving any of the cells.

“The cells are sound-proofed,” Matt explains grimly. “To prevent prison uprisings. We can’t afford that happening, there’s too much at stake.”

Shiro looks around, utterly disgusted. But before he can comment on the utter inhumanity of the way these prisoners are kept quiet – _literally_ – he spots a very familiar and beloved unruly mop of black hair.

“Keith,” he breathes, already walking before he’s even finished speaking, legs moving faster than his brain can catch up until he’s standing right in front of Keith’s cell. It’s of course utterly impossible that Keith might hear him, the particle barrier blocking out sound from the outside just as effectively as it blocks it out from the inside and yet, Keith lifts his head as if he can feel Shiro’s presence. Their eyes meet and Shiro’s heart actually seems to trip over itself in its haste to beat faster as Keith scrambles to his feet and steps closer. He mouths Shiro’s name and it’s all Shiro can do not to tear up with the relief of seeing him safe and somewhat sound.

“I’ll get you out,” he promises, enunciating each word slowly and carefully and Keith nods, effortlessly reading his lips. The bars between Keith and the sound-proofing barrier sparkle with condensed electricity, zipping up and down the metal, creating a silvery-blue web of lightning in the spaces between the bars, making it impossible for Keith to touch them unless he wants to be electrocuted – this, at least, explains why he hasn’t made an escape attempt yet.

Absurdly, Shiro is grateful for that.

“Once I’ll deactivate his cell, you’ll need to get out of here as fast as possible,” Matt says, coming up from behind Shiro and activating some buttons on a console on the wall next to Keith’s cell. “I don’t have the clearance to do anything like this and it’s likely that the security system will pick up on that.”

“Won’t they be able to trace it back to you?” Shiro frowns. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate that their friendship is enough to convince Matt to help them escape but he’s also not willing to endanger Matt either.

“I’ll try to avoid that,” Matt mumbles, already punching in more codes. “But I can’t-“

In the eerie silence of the prison block, the shot that rings out is so incredibly loud that for a moment, Shiro actually fears that he’s gone deaf. Time slows down to horror in slow motion, like gum being torn apart in the slowest of ways, making every movement feels like it’s taking a year. He turns around, so horribly slow, body refusing to move faster in the rubbery reality that is time now, eyes widening at the sight unfurling in front of his eyes.

In the ever-lasting twilight of the prison block, barrel still smoking from the shot she just fired, High General Qrahr of the Alliance stands flanked by two Galra sentries, gun still aimed at Matt who just gasps for air, falling to his knees holding his injured side, blood blooming across his dark clothing.

“I am sorry, Matt,” she says and doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But I cannot let you do this.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst, the angst is coming to an end, peeps! As is this fic (finally). There are roughly two more chapters coming but you've made it through the worst, I promise you!
> 
> And now, enjoy the swansong of angst because boy, I couldn't let all of you leave without just one more chapter full of it before I dive into figuring out the logistics of ot3 smut.

For a moment longer, Shiro is too horrified to move. Matt, both hands pressed on top of the bleeding wound in his side, trying to stop the blood, looks up at Qrahr, eyes wide with terror.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he gasps, grimacing, blinking against the wetness welling up in his eyes from the pain. The words finally spur Shiro into action and he hurries to his best friend’s side, frantically pulling off his own shirt to press it to Matt’s wound.

Qrahr calmly levels the gun at them, her expression unreadable.

“I am sorry it has to be like this,” she says, luminous eyes like lost stars in the twilight. “I had hoped you would not throw your lot in with the other humans, Matt.”

“You – you fucking… _traitor_ ,” Matt spits with disgust, face contorted with pain and leaning heavily against Shiro. “I can’t believe… you just…”

“There was no ‘just’ about it,” Qrahr interrupts him calmly, still not lowering the gun that Shiro is frantically trying to ignore, too busy with trying to stop his friend from bleeding out on the floor. “I assure you, I am aware of the burden I have chosen to carry. But I am doing this for the Alliance.”

“The fuck you are.” Matt shifts his weight slightly away from Shiro and clearly regrets it the next second. Screwing his eyes shut, he makes a pained noise, teeth grinding together as he tries to breathe through the pain. Helplessly, Shiro lowers Matt’s body more to the floor, helping him into a more comfortable position where his wound isn’t strained too much. Out of the corner of his eye, he glances at Keith – still stuck behind bars and the soundproof bubble, looking like he’s screaming for all it’s worth, pacing left and right, tense with anger and the helplessness; he’s always hated being helpless, this must be killing him, Shiro thinks but he doesn’t have the luxury to worry about Keith at the moment. Not when Matt is now letting out more pained whimpers, breathing erratic.

“Prince Lotor has promised to return my people’s home world,” Qrahr says, ignoring Matt’s swearing from earlier. “All we need to do is relinquish the paladins to him – which you, Matt, have kindly been harboring for us.” Her unblinking gaze turns to Shiro, chilling him to the bone. “Please, do not attempt to struggle. I would not like to hurt anyone else.”

“You shot Matt,” Shiro replies with a disbelieving headshake. “He’s one of you, isn’t he? How could you shoot someone who’s loyal to you?”

“It is unfortunate,” Qrahr says and at least has the decency to look sorry. “But necessary. My people have fought and struggled and I cannot in good conscience let them suffer any longer. Not when the solution is right here in front of us. Please, Matt, do not be angry with me; you would do the same for your people.”

“W-Wouldn’t…” Matt coughs, his whole body contorting with the pain of every hack. But he opens one eye, a drop of sweat running down his temple, and shoots the alien general a defiant glare. “I’d never… never betray… anyone loyal to me…”

“Then you are a better person than I am,” Qrahr concedes but doesn’t move the gun away.  “I do apologize; you are a valued member of the Alliance. If you cooperate, I will do my best to get you medical attention as fast as possible. But now, please, relinquish the paladins. I do not wish to hurt you further.”

“F-fuck you,” Matt replies. Shiro wishes he’d just stop talking, stop provoking a clearly unstable enemy who won’t hesitate to kill them if need be; he’s learned to stay silent when faced with an enemy who’s got nothing to lose and Qrahr clearly fits this requirement – she’s already told them that much, has made a pact to save her own people because if she doesn’t, they will all die anyway, fought too long and too hard to stop now. He tries to curl protectively around his friend while Qrahr calmly walks around them towards the console, nodding to the sentries who immediately walk up to her, grabbing Shiro by the arms and pulling him up.

“Let me go,” he says, trying to keep calm. “If we can just contact the others – Voltron will help you, you’ll never have to fight again –“

“The deal has been struck, paladin,” Qrahr tells him. “There will be no going back on the terms agreed upon. I _am_ sorry that it had to come to this. Now, please cooperate.”

“Don’t do it, Shiro!” Matt gasps from where he’s still half lying on the floor, face contorted with pain. “You can’t – they’ll kill you!”

Shiro doesn’t look at him – his attention is on Keith, still screaming and spitting inside the soundproof cell like a feral animal, eyes wild and full of righteous fury, insults and curses no doubt falling from his lips with every step Qrahr takes. It’s impossible to communicate with him like this, no matter how much Shiro wants to, because Keith’s sense of justice is way stronger than his sense of reason might ever be; it’s why he works so well with Lance, impulse and stability, the swift aggressive strikes of a blade paired with the calm collected shots of a sniper rifle.

But Shiro won’t give up yet. He makes eye contact with Keith, just for one brief moment, shaking his head ever so slightly. He sees the fire in Keith’s violet eyes, sees the fight and the arguments already rising but the barely noticeable frown signals that he’s at least willing to listen. Shiro looks towards Qrahr, then back to the sentries, three blinks – _three enemies, to be taken out in quick succession_ – and finally back to Qrahr, a single barely there shake of his head – _Keith’s target but no killing strike_. And Keith – Keith grinds his teeth, so very obviously displeased with any sort of plan that doesn’t involve ripping the alien general apart at the very seams but finally, a moment before the soundproof bubble blinks out of existence, he nods.

Shiro exhales slowly, willing the energy thrumming through his right arm to gather in the tips of his fingers; he’s still being held by the two sentries but he can already feel the strength pour through the mechanical tendons of his arm, can feel the tingle of blinding light and power in every artificial particle, brimming with life.

“Please do not struggle,” Qrahr says, as she pushes the last button and the bubble finally disappears, the bars charged with electricity sliding back into the floor where they came from.

For the fraction of a second, nothing happens; time stands still as they all stand there, rooted to the spot, the calm before the storm and oh, a storm it will be.

“Now, Keith,” Shiro yells.

And Keith, glorious creature of life and fire that he is, spurs into action faster than Qrahr can react – all of her experience as a general is nothing against Keith’s reflexes as he springs at her like a wild cat, armed with nothing but his bare hands and the fiery strength of his very being. He spins, hair nothing but a blur, a swing to the left, to the right, a swift kick as he knocks her off her feet.

Shiro allows himself to watch for just that single second before he himself starts moving, yanking his right arm out of the sentry’s grasp to cut its head off in one fell swoop, already spinning around before the metal body of the robot has crashed to floor with a clatter. The second sentry is immediately alerted but it’s already too late, Shiro blocks one, two, three blows with his right arm, hand blazing a brilliant purple-white, using the momentum to free his second hand and grab his opponent’s arm. He pulls the sentry sharply towards himself, delivering an uppercut with so much force that the sentry is sliced open from chest to head, the arm Shiro is holding coming clean off as it drops to the ground in a tangle of cut wires and still jerking limbs.

The entire fight hasn’t even taken more than a minute and yet, Shiro is breathing hard from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. If he’s being honest with himself, he _hates_ fighting like this, hates fighting in general because it always felt like loss to him, like words aren’t enough anymore and people succumb to primal urges to solve conflicts. He joined the Garrison to explore space, to see so much more than there was to see on Earth – and then everything changed and now he’s stuck in a war with no choice but to fight if he wants to stay alive.

It doesn’t help that he’s _good_ at it.

When he looks over to Keith again, he finds him helping Matt sit up more, carefully pressing Shiro’s already bloodied shirt to Matt’s wound; Qrahr lies where she stood just a few moments before, expertly taken out by Keith. Shiro hopes that Keith didn’t actually break her neck in his eagerness to get revenge but right now, he can’t afford to think about that too much anyway.

“Shit,” he says, quietly, glad that at least Pidge isn’t around to hear him curse. Keith looks up sharply, eyes briefly wandering over the scars marring Shiro’s shirtless torso but quickly wandering up to his face, checking him over.

“We have to get out of here,” he says in lieu of asking after Shiro’s wellbeing. “I’ve had enough of this place since I arrived.”

Shiro huffs a mirthless laugh; he could say the same, definitely. He misses the Castle, he misses Black and most of all, _God_ , he misses the team. He misses sending Pidge to bed at ungodly hours, he misses Coran’s crazy stories, he misses Allura’s laughter, he misses Hunk’s food and he misses Lance’s cheesy pickup lines. He misses them all so much that it’s practically choking him and he can’t wait to get back to them and the easy camaraderie, the warmth and safety they provide, the way he feels like he can just rest and _be_.

He swears that he’ll sleep for a week the second he’s back at the Castle and won’t leave his bed until it burns down under him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he agrees instead of voicing that thought. He kneels down next to Matt, helping him stand. He’s still trembling, pale under his hair, stuck to his forehead, sweating profusely. Keith is on his other side, pressing the makeshift rag to the wound.

“Can you walk?” Shiro asks to which Matt glances back at Qrahr, still unmoving. She doesn’t look too good but Keith’s grim expression says enough; he really did only incapacitate her, no matter he may have wanted to actually injure or even kill.

“I… Yeah,” Matt finally says, betrayal written so clearly across his face that Shiro actually feels a little ill himself. “But we’ll have to… we’ll have to alert the others, we have to…”

“We don’t _have_ to do anything,” Keith decides with a glare. “These people want to fight alone? Fine. I’m not gonna force them, they can all go to hell for all I care.”

“Keith,” Shiro says quietly and Keith at least has the decency to look a little guilty when he glances back at Matt whose expression has gone grim and dark. But before anyone can say another word or even make a decision on what to do with the other prisoners in the block, watching the three of them, the entire station rocks around them, the ground beneath them an unsteady quaking thing, rumbling through the walls and the entirety of the Alliance’s secret base.

“What is that?!” Keith yells, desperately trying to stay standing while simultaneously holding on to Matt.

“They’re – oh God, they’re attacking the station.” Underneath the sweaty hair clinging to his pale skin, Matt somehow manages to get even paler, haunted and gaunt. “Lotor, he… he never meant to uphold the deal!”

“Of course he didn’t,” Keith spits, disgusted. “He’s a lying snake, just like his fucking father!”

“Let’s get out of here,” Shiro decides, already whirling around to punch the damn buttons on the console. He’s had enough of this place to last a lifetime and if the Galra decide to blow it up, he will not mourn a single metal scrap of it all but he’ll be damned if he lets even a single innocent person die on this hellhole of a station. All of the soundproof barriers blink out of existence at once, leaving behind the startled prisoners still stuck in their cells but already loudly demanding to know what’s going on.

“The station’s under attack!” Shiro shouts at them over the ruckus. “Get the hell out of this place and try to stay alive!” He opens the cells and turns away, not watching the prisoners pile out and instead heaving one of Matt’s arms over his head so he can hold him up better. Matt looks torn for all of a second but then nods and they’re moving, moving away from the cells and out of the prison block so they can leave this place behind and never, ever turn back again.

By the time they finally leave the prison block, the station is caught in an outright war; former prisoners against leftover rebels against a whole army of Galra and robot sentries, laser shots zipping around and the smoke from various explosions thick enough that Shiro can’t even see where he’s going. If not for Matt, they probably would end up hopelessly lost in the slaughter and carnage; but even deathly pale and losing blood, Matt still manages to navigate them through the labyrinth of hallways and dead bodies.

Shiro finds himself, absolutely irrationally, praying for the others to show up – for Pidge’s wit and Allura’s strength and Hunk’s power and Lance’s precision and the Lions, knowing full well that it would be nothing short of a miracle if that wish were to come true. And how could it? For all he knows, the others are on the other side of the universe, with no way of knowing where Keith and Shiro are.

No, they’re alone in this, him and Keith and Matt, and they have to find a way to survive and somehow return to the others before the whole damn station explodes right underneath their feet. And it seems intent on trying to do just that if the violent rumbling and shaking of the walls and the ground are anything to go by; explosions rattle every step of the way until Matt’s legs finally give out under him.

They nearly stumble into a group of sentries and only Keith’s quick reflexes save them from being discovered. While Shiro carefully lets Matt sit down on the ground, hidden behind a console of some sort, Keith is already moving away, a shadow made of smoke and the grim determination to make it out of this hell alive.

“Y’should…” Matt slurs, eyes half shut already, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek. “… jus’ go… ’m sorry, I….”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Shiro tells him, shaking his head already. “Nobody is going to leave anyone behind, Pidge would kill me if she finds out about this. Now, listen to me – you’re losing blood and I need to…” His thoughts are racing. He has no idea what he can do to stop the bleeding, has no idea how to get them out of here and how to get to safety, how to survive long enough to make sure the other two are safe…

“You need to cauterize the wound.” Keith suddenly says, appearing back at Shiro’s side. There’s a smudge of ashes high on his cheek and a small cut right above his brow but he doesn’t look hurt, gripping a gun he obviously just took from the group of sentries he’s taken out all by himself. Shiro would be impressed if he had the mental capacity to spare right now, if he could concentrate on anything but making sure they all survive this. And Keith, thank God for Keith, who knows Shiro inside out and then some, can read him like nobody else because Keith exhales slowly and leans their foreheads together for a brief moment, squeezing Shiro’s biceps with so much gentleness that it takes his breath away for a second.

“You can do this,” Keith whispers into the barely there space between them and Shiro has no idea who of them he means. It’s as much encouragement as it’s a prayer but he finds himself nodding anyway, taking a deep breath and looking at Matt again.

“This is going to hurt,” he says and Matt blinks at him, sluggishly, barely conscious, moving his head in something like a nod. Shiro is no field medic, always wanted to explore way more than he wanted to be a soldier but he passed all of his MASH classes with flying colors, the most decorated recruit the Garrison has ever produced – it will have to be enough. He takes another deep breath, letting the energy thrum through the wires and mechanical tendons of his right arm until his hand lights up with the glowing purple light that has never been used for anything good, as far as he’s concerned. A part of him still hates it, hates the fact that he’s not even fully human anymore but he can’t let that bother him, not right now, not when his best friend is still bleeding out.

But Keith is already lifting the bloodied rag that once was Shiro’s shirt away from the wound and ripping off a clean strip that he rolls up and offers to Matt for biting down, so Shiro really has no other choice but to catch Matt’s eyes and hold his gaze while pressing his white hot glowing hand to the bloody injury. Matt lets out a strangled shout, barely swallowed by the cloth he’s biting down on and there are tears mixing with the sweat, his whole body jerking from the pain as Shiro’s hand sears the hole in his side closed. The smell of burnt flesh is threatening to choke him, the images of the arena already threatening to burst right back into the forefront of his mind but he refuses to let them get a hold of him, not now. He can freak out later when no one is in imminent danger of dying.

When he takes his hand away mere seconds later – it can’t have been longer than that, not with the white hot energy still thrumming through every single one of his cells, making him feel dizzy with the smoke and the power and the smell – Matt has finally lost consciousness. It’s a mercy, really; he doesn’t know how much worse the pain of a burn is compared to the bloody mess that was his wound but he knows for a fact that none of it can be pleasant.

“Fuck,” he whispers and lowers his hand, the glow fading until his bionic hand is back to normal, running his flesh and bone one through his hair, messy and sweaty and _God_ , he needs a shower and to sleep for a hundred years and to never do anything like this ever again. Keith’s hand squeezes his shoulder and for a moment, it’s just them, leaning together, them against the world, caught in a battle that’s too big, too intense, too much for any of them.

“We’ll be fine,” Keith whispers. “We’ll – we’ll be fine.”

Shiro just nods, allowing himself to briefly close his eyes.

When he opens them, he swears he’s in a nightmare.

Through the smoke and the carnage, like a ghostly apparition straight out of his worst dreams, he sees his own face, marching straight for them, eyes glowing yellow with quintessence and the scar such a stark contrast against the dirty, grimy sheen of his skin that it looks unreal.

He can’t move, is frozen with the terror and horror of seeing himself – and not himself, at the same time, because this version of him has a busted right arm, barely anything left but wires and metal plates sticking at odd angles, the malice wafting off of him in thick waves and his face contorted into an expression of hatred and disgust he’s thought himself incapable of, holding a gun.

“Shiro, what…?” Keith starts but never finishes the question, turning around and – freezing, just the way Shiro is.

“No,” he hears Keith gasp. “No, this is – it’s impossible. It can’t…”

And that’s how he knows it’s not a dream. That’s how he knows that somehow, impossibly, the clone Keith has told him about is here and not just a cruel trick of his own mind.

It’s not even a conscious decision when he gets up, one arm lifted to stop Keith from doing anything stupid as he’s prone to do, not a conscious decision when he lets his hand light up again, after all. He can’t look away from the glowing eyes, like something straight out of the scary visions Haggar tormented him with during that first attack on the Galra HQ, everything he despises about what he’s become since the Galra took him.

“Shiro—“

“Take care of Matt,” he hears himself say.

He doesn’t need to look at Keith to know that he has about a thousand arguments already on the tip of his tongue, doesn’t need to hear any of them to know that Keith would rather spontaneously combust that let anyone else fight his battles.

But this isn’t really Keith’s battle, is it?

It’s Shiro’s, has been since the day he let Haggar torment him with visions and ever since the Galra somehow got hold of his DNA to create this monstrosity, this wraith wearing his face.

The battle around them seems to slow to a halt; time slows down until nothing but Shiro and the clone are moving, until everything around him is just a blur, faint sounds of shots and dying screams reaching his ears like he’s surrounded by cotton. It’s like nothing is real anymore besides him and the clone, like they’re the only two people existing in this moment and then, before he even knows what’s happening, they’re already crashing into each other.

Every movement is calculated, brimming with the intent to kill on both sides. Shiro can’t remember even having moved so fast, so focused, not even in the arena, can’t remember ever truly wanting to _kill_ an opponent before – before, it has always been about survival, about living to see another day, about somehow getting back home to the people he loved. But this?

He’s seen the injury that nearly killed Keith, has seen him bleed all over the Leaders’ Meeting and all the way to the medbay, has seen the way Keith flatlined for a full thirty seconds before they could get him back, somehow managing to knit together his insides and prevent him from dying.

He can only imagine the horror the others must have felt, only imagine the way _Lance_ felt if the scream Keith remembers was real.

And this isn’t just about survival anymore.

Shiro can handle himself getting hurt, can handle getting injured and taken apart by aliens until he’s not human anymore, can handle losing half his memories and himself but what he can’t and absolutely refuses to handle is letting anyone he cares about getting hurt.

He’s going to end this, one way or another.

His advantage is that _his_ bionic hand is actually still functional, that whatever took out the clone’s arm hasn’t gotten its fingers on him yet. His disadvantage, however, is that the clone has nothing to lose; he’s using the gun as a melee weapon, swinging it around with so much force that Shiro is forced to retreat several times, diving under the arm and hitting, swinging by himself, precise movements that might have taken out anyone else but not a carbon copy of himself. They’re absolutely equally matched and each of his hits is met with a block and _he has to protect Keith and Matt_ and maybe he’s too desperate, too weak to actually protect anyone because the clone’s leg swings around to knock him off his feet and Shiro’s on the ground, too stunned to react immediately.

The sudden realization that he’s going to _die_ roots him to the spot and he can’t move, eyes wide and staring straight at his own face, contorted with malicious triumph as the gun is getting cocked and he can look straight up the barrel, already lighting up with the energy required for a shot. What irony; dying by his own hand, in the end. If it wasn’t so sad, he might laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

But the shot, when it finally comes, doesn’t blow out his brains or go right through his heart; in fact, it doesn’t hit him at all. Instead, the clone staggers and drops the gun he’s holding, falling to his knees, clutching at his chest – blooming with a flower of glowing yellow quintessence and bright red blood around a hole that seems to go straight through him. Maybe, if he squints, he could even see the wall behind his enemy through the hole in his chest except that he doesn’t really want to unless he wants to get sick right here and right now.

What he can do, however, is look over the clone’s shoulder into a familiar face that he couldn’t mistake even through the smoke and fire.

Clad in his paladin’s armor, blue highlights glowing in bright contrast to the carnage all around them, and face set with determination that isn’t unlike the one Keith wore earlier, stands Lance with his bayard – but wait no, it’s red why is it red, he doesn’t understand anything – in the form of a sniper rifle, still ready to shoot at the slightest wrong movement.

“How many times do we have to fucking _kill_ this bastard?!” Lance hisses through grit teeth.

And Shiro – well.

Before he can think better of it or think _at all_ , he lets the energy gather in his arm until he feels it practically vibrating through his entire body, until he’s nearly blind with the brightness of it, before plunging his hand straight into the clone’s gut, looking into the yellow glow until it fades and the clone’s body slumps to the floor.

“Never again,” he whispers.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you were so awesome and patient with me, I'm spitting out the last two chapters in one go.   
> So THANK YOU to all those who commented and subscribed and kudos'ed and all you silent readers ;) Enjoy the end of this angst fest, god knows you deserve it.

It’s like something out of a bad dream, the way Shiro battles the clone. Keith’s pretty sure he’s had this exact dream before, except both Shiros turned towards him and killed _him_ together, sometime during his seemingly endless stay in the medbay. Half of him expects to see the same thing happen right now and is ridiculously glad that it doesn’t come true and the other half is just horrified at the entire scenario, the wound in his gut – though finally healed, it’s still tender – throbbing with the memory of being stabbed, with the memory of Lance’s horrified scream and the pain of this entire experience.

Secretly, although he’d never admit it to anyone, he’s glad that Shiro is taking on the clone. Because, and even the realization of this is painful and so full of shame that Keith can’t even believe he’s thinking this, he’s not sure he can do this, not again, not after he’s faced down somebody wearing a face he loves and gotten speared through the gut, not after all it’s taken him to be able to face him in the first place. And now, now he’s back like a horror vision from Keith’s worst dreams, wires and broken metal where there used to be a bionic arm, eyes glowing yellow with hatred and what is supposed to be pure energy, wielding a gun and somehow, impossibly, here, _here_ where Keith thought himself safe, at least for a little while before everything went wrong _yet again_.

He can’t seem to be able to move as he stares at the two mirror images fighting, meeting blow for blow but he cannot stop the scream of horror that wrestles its way out of his chest as Shiro, the real Shiro, _his_ Shiro gets knocked back and down, with the muzzle of the gun pointed straight at his face – as the shot rings out, so horribly loud, Keith chokes on a breath, he can’t seem to breathe but he also can’t look away, can’t believe this is happening, can’t – _can’t_ –

“Keith? Shit, Keith…!”

His vision clears to the sight of Lance’s face.

“Okay Keith, I know this is fucked up and everything! But you gotta stay with me here buddy, okay?”

“I,” he says, blinking hard to make sure that this isn’t the first sign of madness. “What?”

“We need to get out of here,” Lance says. Next to him, Shiro – the real Shiro, still shirtless and grimy and beautiful and real – hoists an unconscious Matt into his arms, and Keith can only blink again.

He’s half convinced that he’s finally lost his mind but then Lance wouldn’t be wearing the paladin armor and it wouldn’t be smeared with grease and ash and he certainly wouldn’t hoist Keith to his feet with more force than finesse.

“C’mon, Keith, move it! I’ll yell at you later, promise, but right now you need to _move_ because this isn’t how I’ve planned to die!”

And really, what can Keith say to that?

He lets Lance tug him along, holding on to Keith’s sleeve shirt like he’s unwilling to ever let him go, and they’re running, running, Lance in the lead and Shiro and Keith right on his heels, through the fighting and the dying and fire and smoke, until they reach one of the countless hangars of the station and Keith almost bursts into tears of happiness when he sees Red, eyes gleaming and body the sleek image of power and grace and _oh_ , there’s the familiar rumble of her presence in his mind, the warm embrace of a familiar mind and no matter what happens, Red will always be his and he’ll always be hers.

“Keith!” This time, it’s Shiro who calls him, standing on the short runway that leads into Red’s cockpit and looking back at him. The station gives off another rattle, loud and ear-splitting and the ground vibrates so much that Shiro nearly loses his balance completely and only remains standing thanks to Lance who steadies him, one hand on his shoulder and the other one holding on to Red.

“The whole damn station’s about to blow up!” Lance yells. “Come on!!”

They rush inside, Matt between them like a ragdoll, unresponsive and limp, Red already lifting off before Lance is even properly seated, the elation of having both her paladins back safely probably enough to fuel her and when has she ever not reacted to Keith’s need? He closes his eyes, trusting blindly into Lance’s skills as a pilot and Shiro’s ability to care for Matt, leaning against one of Red’s wall and just letting himself fall, for the first time in weeks, _months_ , into the warmth that is her presence and letting it calm him, erase the horrifying images of blood and the smell of burnt flesh and the sight of Shiro fighting himself. He lets himself breathe, relax, sink into the fiery presence of passion and affection and determination that is Red.

He ignores the sounds of the battle all around him, allowing himself to focus only on his breathing and Red’s calming touch on his soul, until there’s a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to reality.

Keith opens his eyes, blinking slowly, while his brain focuses on Shiro’s face in front of his.

“You okay?”

Is he? Keith doesn’t actually know. But he’s feeling better than he has since he arrived at the damned station so he nods and gives Shiro a smile that can’t be anything more than a weak twitch of the corners of his mouth. Over Shiro’s shoulder, he sees Lance glance back at them with a strange, unreadable expression on his face but when he notices Keith looking at him, he quickly looks straight ahead again, maneuvering them out of the battle and away from the station.

“Lance, where have you been?!” That’s Hunk’s voice from the speakers and a second later, his video feed appears on the dashboard screen. Keith feels his heart do a weird dance of relief at seeing the big guy’s familiar face, even if it’s just on a video and there’s no way of getting one of Hunk’s famed hugs just yet. “Don’t just disappear on us, there are Galra everywhere and – wait, Shiro? Keith?! Is that you?!” Hunk’s entire face lights up as if somebody has just given him exclusive attending rights to an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Oh my god! You found them! _You found them_!!”

“Sure did.” Lance grins triumphantly. “I totally expect a parade for that. Or, you know, at least a feast cooked by you.”

“Buddy, I’m gonna cook all the things!” Hunk actually looks like he’s about to tear up from happiness and Keith’s heart swells with affection for him, only now realizing how much he’s missed him and all of them and the Castle and God, he can’t believe he’s actually back with them now, can’t believe… “You’re bringing them back, right?!”

“’course I am!” Lance snorts. “I’m not letting these two out of my sights ever again, they have a stupid habit of disappearing the second I look away.”

… Is Keith imagining it or does Lance actually sound bitter? He winces slightly and holds on tighter to the doorframe as Red dives sharply to evade a barrage of shots aimed straight at them, hoping that Shiro has secured Matt safely.

He watches Lance maneuver Red through the battlefield, watches him take down dozens of Galra fighters, watches him fly and curse and make his way to the Castle, a gleaming beacon of hope and safety, surrounded by its particle barrier. Keith stares at the circle of light that symbolizes home for him by now and feels the yearning in his heart become stronger and stronger until it’s almost choking him and yet – yet…

“We have to at least notify the rebels,” he hears himself say, causing both Shiro and Lance to whirl around, staring at him in a mix of surprise and disbelief, as if he’s just proposed to eject himself into space and return to the hellhole that is the Alliance’s headquarters. And yes, he wants nothing more than to turn away and never look back again at this place but he also realizes that it was Qrahr who betrayed the Alliance and them and that the rest of the rebels don’t deserve this, don’t deserve to be slaughtered like animals on two fronts…

“Are you out of your mind?!” Lance yells. “I’m not going back there! And neither are any of you!”

“We don’t – I’m not going back there either!” Keith replies sharply, feeling his hackles rise. How is it that Lance always manages to make an argument out of everything? He _doesn’t_ want to go back, he’s never setting a foot back into that pit of distrust and betrayal ever again but… but he’s also not heartless. “I just need you to send out an SOS signal to the fleet! So they can return here and- and make sure the rest of them doesn’t get slaughtered by the Galra!”

“Seriously, Keith?” Lance groans in annoyance. “ _This_ is the moment you discover that you have a heart? Ugh, you’re the worst Tin Woodman _ever_!”

“I don’t even know what that _means_!”

“Because you never picked up a book before!”

Ugh! Keith makes a step forward, thrumming with irritation and anger, unsure if he wants to kiss Lance stupid or punch him in the face but before he can actually decide, Shiro steps between them.

“Okay, you two can fight all you want later but now’s really not the time for it,” he chides, bearing that expression again like he’s a long-suffering single father who’s completely exasperated by his children screaming at each other. “Keith is right, we should – at least alert the rebel fleet that they’re under attack. With the way things looked back at the station, nobody has had time to send any signals!”

“ _Fine_ ,” Lance grumbles in reply, already looking away but color high on his cheeks, the best sign that he’s upset but swallowing it down for the moment. He fiddles with some of the controls on the dashboard, all the while still evading and diving and shooting fiery lasers at every Galra fighter ship that dares coming too close. “Pidge! I’m gonna send out a signal to the – the Rebel Alliance, can you amplify it?”

“You’re doing _what_?” Pidge’s disembodied voice replies. She’s not bothering with a video though, probably too busy doing whatever it is that she’s doing; Keith doesn’t doubt that she’s off somewhere, being badass. “I’m a little busy over here!”

“Sending a signal to the damn rebels! Can you amplify it or not?”

“Amplifier, coming up!”

If radio waves were visible, Keith thinks, then whatever Pidge has done to amplify the signal Lance is sending out would probably be enough to block out the backdrop of black and stars, to drown them all in a whirlwind of sound, to shine bright enough to settle in next to this system’s sun and become her counterpart. As it is, however, radio waves are just as invisible as sound, as wind, and it’s impossible to see them so all Keith can do is hope that they do actually reach their destination, that the rebels won’t return to a burned out husk of metal or, worse, to nothing but debris floating through space.

Lance flies another sharp curve but, in his annoyance, misjudges the angle somewhat so Red is hit by a long line of shots, causing her to roar in defiance while everyone inside the cockpit gets jostled around to hard that Keith actually hits his head on the doorframe trying to stay upright.

“Fucking… _pendejo_!” Lance spits and returns the fire with so much rage that Keith actually is afraid of him for a split second. He stumbles forward, to where Lance and Shiro are holding on, cursing under his breath as Red’s body is rattled by another shot hitting her.

“We can’t keep doing this!” Shiro leans over to the communicator controls. “Hunk! Pidge! We need you over here!”

“Shiro?!”

“A little busy here myself!!”

“Allura!” That’s Lance, yelling for their princess. “Allura, we need you over here!” Through the windshield, Keith watches Green and Yellow dive and fight, clawing and spitting lasers and taking out dozens of Galra fighters; he can’t see Blue anywhere, though, and instantly gets worried.

“Where is she?” he asks, leaning forward as if seeing more of the view outside the windshield will somehow miraculously make Blue show up. “She’s not…?”

“Exhausted as hell,” Lance grunts in reply. “You try jumping across half the universe to save your ass!”

“It’s not like I-”

“Will you two _stop fighting_!”

Keith and Lance both wince before looking over to Shiro who’s watching them both with that stern expression that won’t allow for any more arguments over this, all commanding officer whose word is to be obeyed. Even shirtless, grimy and in desperate need of a shower, with his hair too long and dirty, framing his face that somehow still manages to look pale under all the dirt, he’s got that air of confidence around him, the confidence that made him the Garrison’s best and that won’t allow for any disobedience. In that moment, he’s not Shiro – he’s Takashi Shirogane, one of Earth’s finest.

And while Keith has always had a problem with authority, well. Obeying an order from Shiro is actually surprisingly easy.

“Lance!” Coran’s voice cuts through the tense silence inside Red’s cockpit, effectively distracting all three of them. “Is that Shiro and Keith with you, did I hear that right?”

“Sure did,” Keith replies, smiling up at the video feed that opens up right next to Hunk’s concentrated face. “Hey Coran.”

“You have no idea how good it is to see you, my boy!” Coran clutches his chest with one hand, moustache trembling with emotion. “And Shiro, too! Princess! Princess, did you hear that?!” He turns around and the video feed shifts, zooming in on Allura’s tired face where she’s sitting on the control platform for the wormhole but she perks up visibly the moment she lays eyes on them.

“Keith! Shiro! Oh, I cannot express how glad I am to see you!”

Keith can’t help smiling back at her when he sees her radiant, beaming grin, the relief so obvious on her face that even if he’s still having trouble believing that he’s really a part of this mismatched found family, that even if he thinks that nobody will miss him if he does die one of these days ( _going out like a star, not with a sigh but with a blast, taking hundreds of enemies with him_ ) he can’t _not_ believe that he’s part of this, part of the team and the family and part of something so big, he can’t even begin to understand.

“Are you alright?” Shiro demands to know immediately and Lance starts to say something but Allura is already nodding, rising to her feet in one quick, fluid motion, determination bright in her eyes.

“I will be,” she replies over Coran’s protests. “Lance, can you help Pidge and Hunk distract the Galra just a little longer? I will be right with you!”

“Roger that, Princess!”

The three Lions weave in and out of the masses of Galra fighters, three lightning bolts of power, zigzagging across the blackness of space, evading and shooting, attacking and avoiding. Keith thinks about Black, thinks about flying her and flying Red and helping the others, pulling his own weight instead of being stuck here like some damsel in distress. He can feel, close and yet so far away, Black’s presence nudging at him, like a cat might nudge her kitten with a snout, can hear Shiro gasp softly and tear his gaze away from the battle in front of them, looking back to the Castle. Is that Black reaching out to him, too? Or are all of their bonds, all their carefully worked out alignments, with the lions fucked up now, irreparably tangled after Shiro disappeared and then he himself?

Red sends a wave of warmth back trough the bond with him, a sense of _don’t worry everything will be fine_ , a silent _I will always be yours and you will always be mine_ that he can’t explain but feels anyway. And maybe, maybe all of this will turn out okay anyway and Keith finds himself, for the first time in forever, firmly believing in a happy ending.

Just this once.

And just then, when Red sends a ripple of affection and love through their bonds and from so, so far away, Black does the same with another soft nudge, there’s a spark of bright blue across the black expanse of the universe and Blue rides in, armed with icy blasts and Allura shouting insults in a language none of them have mastered just yet.

“That’s my girl!” Lance is grinning triumphantly and Keith isn’t sure who of them he means – Allura or Blue – but realizes that it doesn’t really matter, that both of them are, in fact, Lance’s girls out here because the bond between a Lion and her Paladin is sacred and a Lion choosing two Paladins from the same group will bond those two Paladins too. That’s why he’s bonded to Lance and Shiro both, why all three of them are the way they are, why there are too many feelings to be stuck inside a cockpit as small as this. He would be jealous if he didn’t know that he has no right to – and if he hadn’t seen Allura and Lance act like siblings, laughing and teasing and talking and sharing a deep, profound love that is much more meaningful than any romantic whim could ever be.

Blue and Red work together seamlessly, like they were meant to do just that, burning the enemy with fire and ice until Yellow and Green can break through, four elements working together effortlessly and Keith gets, for the first time, a unique perspective on something he hasn’t been able to see before: the way the four Lions interact, the way they’re separate entities and yet, sometimes, function as one – even without forming Voltron.

“They’re here!”

Keith starts out of his musings and looks at where Shiro is pointing, mouth falling open in surprise. Thousands of ships, small and big and everything in between, a mismatched armada of battle cruisers just as diverse as the Alliance itself.

“Took their sweet time, too,” Lance comments but he sounds relieved and when Keith glances at him, he notices the exhaustion written across Lance’s face. Of course the damn idiot didn’t rest! Of course he’s pushed himself until he’s found them because that’s just who Lance is, isn’t it? Hopelessly loyal and good and fuck, Keith just really wants to kiss his stupid face right now before his chest caves in from all the affection.

He knows that his disappearance is to blame for this and he already knows that he won’t ever be able to apologize enough.

With the Alliance’s appearance (like something out of a book, Keith thinks later, like the cavalry arriving at the last possible moment), the Galra are outnumbered. They must realize that too because one after another, their purple ships zip away through space, leaving traces of gleaming silver and violet behind as they jump into hyperspace. Through Lance’s comms, a cheer rings out, thousands of voices joining in as the Alliance celebrates their victory against the Galra army and Keith finds himself breathing out, finally.

It’s over.


	13. Chapter 13

“If you ever pull anything like that again – I’ll – I’ll kill you! You don’t have any… you can’t even imagine…!”

Keith looks away as Pidge throws herself at her brother, sobbing hard. Matt, fresh out of the healing pod and still somewhat dizzy, catches her around the waist and nearly goes down with the force of the hug, only remaining standing because he stumbles backwards against the pod he just came out of.

“Katie…? Katie, I don’t…”

“Don’t you _ever_ ,” she screams at him, punctuating each word with what sounds suspiciously like a punch in his chest, “ever disappear on me again! I thought you were…!”

Matt finally seems to understand that he’s safe and reunited with his sister because suddenly, the Castle’s medbay is filled with apologies and crying and more sobbing than Keith is comfortable with so he quickly books it out of there, deciding that the injury in his gut can get some healing later on. And it’s practically healed by now, anyway.

He’s not good with public displays of emotions… and also, he thinks as he walks out of the room and steps over Allura’s mice who are watching the touching reunion of the Holt siblings, these two probably have a lot to talk about.

His feet carry him to the recreational area and he sinks down on one of the sofas with a sigh, closing his eyes and allowing himself to relax.

He’s safe here. They all are. He’s safe and back home and his family – not by blood but by choice which means so, so much to him – is here and he’s not ever leaving them ever again. His time with the Alliance has just shown him that home isn’t necessarily a place because Keith, he’s never been home in a place before. No, for him (and maybe for everyone else too, he doesn’t know), home has become these people that live here with him, stuck together through coincidence or fate or whatever you wanna call it, united through a mutual cause and the bonds they’ve woven.

“There you are.”

Keith opens his eyes, instantly focusing on the figure standing in the door.

“Lance.”

“Shiro’s looking for you,” Lance says, still not moving away from where he’s standing. “He said he sent you to the pods but you weren’t there, so…”

“I,” Keith starts, stops and swallows. Then he clears his throat and tries again, “Pidge and Matt were in there. I didn’t… want to interrupt anything.”

“Okay.”

The silence stretches between them, awkward and tense and Keith can feel his heart beat faster, brain already trying to think of a way to somehow escape this situation and never looking back.

But that’s not how he does things, he doesn’t run away, he charges headlong into things and figures out the consequences later.

“Listen –“

“Hey, I wanted to —“

They start speaking at the exact same moment and stop once they realize it, clearing their throats awkwardly. Lance looks away from him and looks ready to bolt as if his courage has run out after the last time they had to have a talk like this but this time, Keith is determined to be the brave one.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, loud enough to make Lance jump with surprise. “I’m sorry I made you worry, I didn’t… I didn’t think. I just – I couldn’t let him hurt you. That’s why I went to face him alone. It’s not because I don’t trust you. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

“So you let him hurt _you_?” Lance gives him an incredulous look. “Seriously? You have no idea, Keith! No idea what it was like… I saw him run you through! I thought – I thought you were _dead_!” Lance’s voice has a hysterical edge and he seems to realize it too, looking away from him again and wiping at his eyes with the back of one hand.

Keith rises from the sofa, half planning to comfort Lance somehow but Lance is already barreling on, voice much quieter than before but still sounding desperate.

“I thought you were dead,” he repeats. “And I was so – so angry and you were gone and I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do. You promised me you wouldn’t do anything stupid and then you went right ahead and did it anyway. You _promised_!”

Keith winces. He knows he’s at fault, he knows he broke a promise and that there’s no way he can ever apologize enough for this.

“I’m sorry,” he says anyway, looking straight at Lance. “I fucked up.”

Lance barks a hysterical laugh and looks up at him, eyes suspiciously wet.

“Yes, you did, you colossal _cabrón_.”

Keith doesn’t need to understand Spanish to understand the insult; that’s just the way insults are, somehow universal in every single language.

“I’m sorry,” Keith repeats quietly, stepping closer. Lance just watches him with wet eyes, emotions running amok on his face, unable to settle on a single one.

“I’m sorry,” he says again when he’s standing right in front of Lance, the height difference causing him to look up slightly. “I really am, Lance. And I understand if you… if you can’t forgive me. I just… wanted to protect you.”

“You don’t _need_ to protect me, you goddamn idiot!” Lance finally yells. “We’re all in this together! All of us! We’re all in danger, all the damn time! So stop being the martyr and just – just let us protect you too! You’re not invincible, Keith! You’re _human_!”

Lance lunges at him and Keith squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable punch to the face that he probably deserves – except that it never comes. Instead of punching him, Lance throws both arms around Keith like Pidge did earlier with Matt, pulling him into a crushing hug so strong that Keith can feel his freshly healed gut protesting sharply. But instead of protesting or pulling back, Keith sniffs and hugs Lance back, returning the hug just as fiercely as it’s being given.

“I will kill you if you do anything like that ever again,” Lance whispers wetly into the nonexistent space between them. “I swear, I’ll dig out your corpse and kill it all over again, don’t think I won’t.” Keith huffs out something between a sob and a laugh and nods.

“Okay. _Okay_.”

He doesn’t know how long they stand like that, half blocking the way into the room, hugging as if their lives depend on it, as if they’ll fall apart if they stop hugging. But then a throat gets cleared behind them, almost delicately and Keith looks up from where his face is buried into Lance’s shoulder, staring straight at Shiro who’s watching them with a small smile, warmth dancing in his eyes, freshly showered and wearing a new, clean shirt.

“I see Lance found you,” Shiro says, voice light with amusement. “Good.”

They don’t spring apart like embarrassed teenagers but instead let go of each other slowly, almost unwillingly, as they turn to properly face Shiro who’s still watching them with that small smile.

“We were—,“ Keith begins awkwardly but gets interrupted by Lance, raising his chin defiantly and declaring,

“I’m not going to give up on him.”

 “Alright,” Shiro says simply, not even blinking.

“So…?”

“So,” Keith says with a deep breath, gathering all his courage. “Now we talk.”

When both of them turn to stare at him in disbelief, as if he has just declared that he’s decided to marry Zarkon to end this war once and for all, Keith figures that he earned it.

 

* * *

 

 “Well, good thing this isn’t awkward at all, right?” Lance breaks the silence after a few tense, awkward minutes. He’s got both hands shoved into his jeans, shoulders drawn up high, leaning against a wall. It does, however, manage to break the ice between them because Shiro snorts a surprised laugh and shakes his head fondly from where he’s sitting on one of the sofas, elbows braced on his thighs and chin resting on his folded hands.

“It _is_ awkward,” he admits. “But we’re all adults here. So let’s – let’s talk about this like the adults we are.”

Keith idly wonders if he can return his adulthood membership card somewhere because he feels like many things but _adult_ is definitely not one of them. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud, though.

“Look,” he says instead, looking down into his lap where he’s wringing his hands nervously. He’s sitting across from Shiro with Lance to his left so he’d be able to look at both of them if he’d had the strength to actually look them in the eyes. As it is, his hands are a way safer thing to look at. “I – I know that this is selfish, okay? I _know_. But I… I can’t just choose between the two of you. I know it’s not fair to either of you but… I can’t. Both of you… I…” The words are right there, on the tip of his tongue, but they seem intent on evading them, on not letting him voice them out loud properly. Frustrated, Keith runs one hand through his hair and sighs.

Shiro, being the good person that he is, takes pity on him.

“Keith – do you love Lance?”

Keith starts, right along with Lance, it seems, at the bluntness of the question. They both stare at Shiro for a few moments, then exchange a glance and Keith finds himself blushing.

“I – yes,” he says eventually, trying to keep his voice even and from going squeaky with nervousness. Shiro nods and Lance sputters from his perch against the wall, ears and cheeks coloring a pretty dark red.

“Okay.” Shiro gives Lance a small smile and then looks at Keith again. “What about me? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Keith replies, shaking his head in confusion. “But what does that – you knew that already!”

“We did,” Shiro nods again. “I just wanted to remind you of that, too. It’s not like you chose this, did you?”

“I – of course not!” Keith actually gets up now, pacing nervously. “Why would I choose this? It’s unfair to both of you and – and me too and it’s—it sucks!”

“But you didn’t choose it,” Shiro says, still so very calm. How can he be this calm? “So it would be unfair of _me_ to ask that of you.”

“… What?”

“Ugh!” Lance groans, finally taking his hands out of his pockets to run them through his hair, making it stick up in various ridiculous angles. “Now I feel bad for wanting to keep dating Keith! Why do you have to be so noble about it?!”

“Because –“ And now, now Shiro finally hesitates, looking like the twenty-something he is and not like the wise old man his maturity is making him sound like. “Because I have no right to ask for anything, do I? Not after…” He shakes his head, looking down at his right hand, metal and carbon fiber and the everlasting reminder of what the Galra have done to him.

“That’s bullshit!” Keith yells, stopping his pacing. “You’ve got every right to—“

“What is it with you two and always having to be martyrs?!” Lance interrupts loudly, loud enough that even Shiro winces. “Jesus! We all deserve to be happy, we all have the right to ask for things we want!” He sounds so exasperated which is rich coming from the one person who manages to irritate everyone on board if he just tries hard enough. “I, for one, don’t want to be miserable forever! We’re stuck here in space and we’ve only got each other and – and if I have to cuddle you both into finally accepting that you deserve happiness, then so be it!”

He looks so determined to actually make good on that threat that Keith is actually speechless.

But this… this is just how Lance is, isn’t it? A heart too big for his body and with the capacity to love enough for all three of them, it seems. Keith’s chest swells with the intensity of feelings he has for this gangly idiot.

“Then come here,” he hears himself say, sitting down next to Shiro, both to his own and the other two’s surprise. “Because I think we all need that right now.”

Lance gapes at him for a moment and Keith – Keith fears that he’s misinterpreted this, that it isn’t what Lance meant, that Shiro won’t be okay with this – but then Lance rolls his eyes with a fond grin and saunters over to them, draping himself all over both their laps like an overgrown cat and throwing his skinny but surprisingly strong arms around both of them. Shiro makes a quiet noise of surprise but doesn’t fight, instead turning a very charming pink and almost shyly putting an arm around Lance in return, the other wrapping around Keith’s waist.

Laughter bubbles up and out of Keith’s chest, incredulous laughter because he can’t believe this, can’t believe that he might not have to choose, might be allowed to have this and be selfish. He hugs both of them back and Lance, obviously content with the situation and grinning like the cat who got the cream, huffs a satisfied,

“There we go.”

 

* * *

 

Keith isn’t sure what he expected to happen when he and Shiro returned to the Castle but finding himself in a soft, unspoken relationship with both Shiro and Lance definitely wasn’t it.

It starts small and innocent, little things like Lance tackling Shiro in a hug when they enter the dining hall for the big feast Hunk prepared or Shiro pressing a warm kiss to Keith’s temple when they tell the others about what happened to them since their disappearance. It’s Keith sitting in between the other two, pressed against their solid warmth from knee to hip or Lance sharing his ice cream with both of them a few days later. It’s Shiro covering Lance and Keith with a blanket when he finds them asleep in the recreational area one evening, a glowing tablet with an ebook of the _Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ still open on Lance’s lap or Keith watching with amusement as Shiro lets Lance cut his hair after many complaints of it being way too long.

It’s Keith waking up, a few weeks later, in Shiro’s bed to the soft whispers of a conversation between Shiro and Lance, obviously careful not to wake him. Keeping his eyes closed, he tries to remember how they ended up here, vaguely remembering falling asleep last night during the movie night that Pidge and Matt have established about three days after being reunited (he secretly fears what these two could accomplish if they ever set their minds on ruling the universe together).

He doesn’t know when the last time was that he’s slept so peacefully.

“… convinced you yet?” Lance. The soft chuckle under Keith’s head belongs to Shiro because apparently he’s been using him as a pillow.

“How could you not? You were really persistent.”

“Well, you know.” Lance clears his throat, somewhere on the other side of the bed. “It did help that I’ve had a crush on you for, like, forever.”

“… You did?” Shiro’s voice is still soft, so very warm, despite the surprise.

“… Yeah. Keith, too – but I guess you knew that already.”

Another chuckle.

“Kind of hard not to see it.”

“Heh, as if you’re any better. You look at him like he hung the moon.”

“I do, don’t I.” It’s not even a question this time. Shiro sounds absolutely content lying here, discussing his feelings for Keith with Lance. Keith, meanwhile, feels himself blushing so hard that he’s afraid they’ll notice that he’s not actually asleep anymore and stop talking.

They’re silent for a moment, long enough that Keith thinks they suspect him already but then, Shiro says very quietly,

“You know… You’re a really good person, Lance. I’m glad it’s you. When you showed up back at the station to rescue us…” He trails off thoughtfully.

“Yeah?”

“… you were beautiful, you know.”

There’s a very undignified sound from the other side of the bed and Keith grins despite himself, recognizing it for what it is – Lance spluttering from an honest compliment, still not used to receiving them

“I – that’s – ugh, you two are horrible!”

Shiro laughs, actually _laughs_ , and he sounds so young and happy that Keith can’t help himself, he raises his head to look up at them, eyes going wide at the sight of Shiro leaning over to give a bright red Lance the softest of kisses, right on the mouth. But it’s not a bad sight – it’s a sight so bright and warm and happy that he’s left breathless by the beauty of it, unable to tear his eyes away.

It’s then that they notice him, a very embarrassed Lance hiding his bright red face in Shiro’s pillow with a soft groan while Shiro just smiles at him, eyes crinkling.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” Keith replies, unable to keep the smile off his own face. He can’t remember the last time he’s been so happy – nor if he’s actually ever _been this happy_ before. It’s a weird, exhilataring feeling that makes him feel like he’s about to burst or fly up to the ceiling because he’s weightless and drunk with it.

If this is what happiness is, then it’s no wonder that Lance wants them all to have this.

When Lance finally emerges from the pillow, hair sticking up at odd angles and cheeks still flushed, he opens his mouth to say something, no doubt some horrible pickup line, but instead, he closes his mouth again and just looks at the two of them, expression impossibly fond.

“So,” he says, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Think I’ve cuddled you both into submission?”

“Yeah,” Keith grins back.

“Then… are we…?”

“We’re us,” Shiro says, voice soft. “That’s enough, isn’t it?”

And Keith can’t argue with that. Because yes, it’s enough. He doesn’t need to put a name to what they share, doesn’t need to think of a name for something he has never known before. The three of them just _are_ and that’s enough and fuck, he loves them both so much that he can’t believe all these emotions somehow still fit inside his chest.

“Yeah,” he whispers back, leaning forward to capture Shiro’s lips in a kiss and then leaning his forehead against Lance’s.

They just _are_.

He’s not sure who starts it, not sure when soft kisses turn to more, not sure when Lance ends up shirtless and laughing into Shiro’s neck while Keith leaves a trail of kisses on his ribs, not sure when both he and Lance tackle Shiro back into the sheets, laughing.

Keith hasn’t done this before, has never traded more than a few kisses with Lance and always broken off things before they got too much because – because. But now? Guilt free and happy, Keith doesn’t see a reason to stop this from happening. Something like a giggle bubbles out of his chest when Lance leans over Shiro to blow a raspberry against Keith’s bellybutton and Shiro avenges him by mercilessly tickling Lance’s sides.

They collapse in a tangle of limbs and laughter, still touching, still kissing, until Keith doesn’t know where he ends and the other two begin. It’s not lust, not really; more like the slow burn of something way more intense, something that simmers in his bones and seeps into his muscles and nerves, igniting every pore in him until he’s on fire from head to toe. At least it feels that way when Lance shyly touches him and Shiro kisses Lance and Keith wraps his fingers around Shiro.

Skin on skin and soft moans, the sheets tangled around them and the soft light of the Castle’s lamps becoming brighter and brighter, switching colors slowly from a pink and orange to a happy yellow as they simulate the sunrise. It’s just hands and fingers and spit, nothing elaborate and probably innocent in the grand picture of sex – but it’s perfect, so perfect because Keith is with the two people he loves most and they love him back and each other, too, and it’s the single most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to him.

After, they lie there – avoiding the wet spots but still too lazy to move even if the shower is already calling and it can’t be long till Allura calls them for the next inevitable training session – eyes closed and breathing each other in, satisfied smiles on their lips and limbs entangled as much as possible.

Keith watches Lance trail lazy circles with a fingertip on his biceps and grins from where his head is comfortably resting on Shiro’s artificial shoulder. It should be cold or uncomfortable, really; but it’s not, it’s warm and surprisingly smooth and Keith cannot bring himself to hate it despite everything it stands for. He won’t voice these thoughts, though, knowing full well what Shiro thinks about it, instead choosing to softly caress the spot where flesh meets metal and enjoying the faint tremble of breath he earns for it.

“So, is this a thing that we do now?”

Lance, of course, cannot keep his mouth shut and just enjoy a nice, quiet moment of peace. But Keith doesn’t have it in him to be annoyed, he’s way too fond of him.

“Guess so,” he replies with a half shrug. Glancing up to Shiro, he can see that their fearless leader is actually asleep again. He thinks of how tired Shiro always looks, of how Shiro always swears he’ll sleep for a week whenever they have some time to breathe; it’s good that for once, he feels at peace and safe enough to get some rest. “Do you mind?”

“Nah.” Lance gives him a lazy smile. “This is good. Right?”

It won’t always be this easy, he knows. They will fight and yell and maybe, one day, it will all go to shit like all good things in Keith’s life. But for the moment, he refuses to think about this. He refuses to think of the future or the past and just let’s himself be, right here, in this moment because after all they’ve been through, he figures that he deserves this. Just like Lance said – they all deserve happiness.

So he closes his eyes again and tangles his fingers with Lance’s, right on top of Shiro’s chest that’s gently rising and falling with every breath.

Yes… this is good.

“Yeah.” Keith smiles back, at peace and happy and content. “It is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this marks the end!  
> Phew.  
> This is the longest fic I've ever written, it started out as a simple idea and escaped and then became this angst fest of a fic that got way too long. I apologize for the angst and all I've done to you, darlings, I swear I love these boys. Also, with S4 out, I've of course completely botched Matt's characterization but, oh well. I'll do him justice another time!
> 
>  
> 
> You're welcome to yell at me either here or on my tumblr, joyfullychaotic.tumblr.com <3


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